Integration
by OmniHelix
Summary: Finn leaves the Army, needing time to adjust to civilian life.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I own neither Glee nor its characters. And, despite possible appearances to the contrary, it is a Finchel story. Really. **

He told his family he would not be coming home to Lima in an email to his mother:

_Dear Mom, _

_I know everyone is aware I'm getting out of the Army this week. I accomplished what I set out to do, and have redeemed the family name: they told me yesterday that I have been awarded the Silver Star. I hope now that Dad can rest easier. But something has happened to me, Mom. As proud as I am of doing this, I think the price for what I did is more than I can pay right now, if that makes any sense. I'm going to need some time by myself to get it all figured out, physically and mentally. _

_The physical injuries are fairly minor, but will take a few weeks to fully recover. As for the mental issues, don't worry—it isn't PTSD. The fact is, so much happened, almost all at once, that I need some time for it to "integrate", as an Army doctor put it. The problem is, I don't think I can do it at home or with my family. I can't really explain why, and I have no idea how long it will take, but I will need to be on my own for a while._

_I will send you emails from time to time, letting you know I'm safe. Just know I will return when everything makes more sense. Please give my love to Burt and Kurt. _

_Love,_

_Finn _

He had saved almost every penny of his pay and the large signing bonus. With the money he bought a used Ford Explorer, camping equipment and some clothes, and set off west, to his new life. It would start in Sheridan, Wyoming.

_**XXXXXXX**_

Sheridan was a medium-sized town, nestled in the Bighorn Mountains. Finn chose it for the mountains—an Army psychiatrist he spoke to told him he needed to spend time in them where he wasn't in danger of being shot. Sheridan also had a VA hospital. He found a tiny apartment and a job as a mechanic, and then visited the hospital for therapy to treat some muscle weakness in his right leg. That last patrol had nearly messed him up badly; he was grateful he got out of it in reasonably good shape.

He thought about Eddie and the other two NATO soldiers that didn't make it out that day, covering him as he moved his badly wounded sergeant and two comrades to safety under fire. Finn was told that Eddie was being considered, posthumously, for the Victoria Cross, which made him glad. He wished he could give his Silver Star to all three of them. They deserved it far more than him.

He liked hanging around after therapy with the other vets, especially the older ones. They all understood how he felt, that he needed some time to disengage from the stress and horror of the last four years, before fully entering society again. Here, in this quiet, spectacularly beautiful setting, he could get fixed up physically, and then get his mind together.

There was a bar on the corner near his apartment, "Red's", that served a nice microbrewed ale. Finn and the guys from the shop often went there after work. The owner was a Vietnam Marine vet (named "Red"), and he and Finn became close. They talked about the public perception of veterans. Red, for one, appreciated the increased level of respect compared to when he served, but both he and Finn despised the often openly ingratiating "thank you for your service" they received from people who didn't think twice about voting for cutting funding for veteran's services. They commiserated about the long periods of boredom punctuated with intense moments of absolute terror. And, every Friday night, they toasted each other's survival, and drank to those who didn't come back. Finn's buddies soon learned that neither he nor Red was a font of war stories; the two vets would deliberately tell only the most boring and banal ones until everyone got the message.

There were the nightmares, though. They were easing off in frequency, thank goodness, so he was sleeping better. The psychiatrist told him that he was basically healthy, that nightmares were to be expected, and that he really needed to ease himself back into the world.

That meant, among other things, taking it easy with dating. After the mutually-agreed-upon, "official" breakup with Rachel two years ago, Finn did try dating fellow servicewomen, but it was too soon. Now, he felt ready, and went on a few friendly, almost platonic, dates with a pretty nurse at the VA hospital, Anne Nelson. Nothing serious came of them; however, his confidence was returning, and he felt more comfortable being close with women other than Rachel.

Finn was also beginning to think the breakup was more and more justified. In the beginning the two of them had exchanged letters and phone calls, and thought it might work out. But as months became years, and each exchange grew sadder and sadder about being apart, they gave up, if only just to end the agony. Kurt once told him she was seeing a classmate, but Finn decided he didn't want to hear any more about it. Eventually, even the dreams about her grew less frequent, too.

Two months passed. His hair was longer, he'd grown a dark, closely-cropped beard, and had adopted the male uniform of the town: plaid flannel shirts, jeans, and hiking boots. The leg healed completely, which meant he could start hiking in the mountains. And so he did. It wasn't easy at first. One day, Finn was sitting on a stump by the trail when three backpackers passed him. One wore a black, cable-necked sweater, and, for a split second, Finn thought he was Eddie. There was an instantaneous, irrational flush of joy and hope, only to be snuffed out by his rational side, battering him with the heartbreaking truth: Eddie, Trevor, and Bill were gone. The crushing realization left him weeping by himself alongside the trail, unnoticed by the backpackers, oblivious to what they had done, no matter how inadvertently, to a perfect stranger.

Overall, however, it did get easier. After a few weeks, the fragrant quiet of the mountains began to weave its magic. Birdcalls were no longer surreptitious signals used by the enemy, trees no longer concealed snipers, and trails didn't have to be checked for IED's anymore. With the lessening of the anxiety came a newfound sense of confidence. He tried dating again. Women were attracted, not only to his good looks, but also to his quiet, gentle manner. Yet, for some reason, they sensed he had something hidden, something with which they instinctively knew they would have to compete, and against which, they also knew, they could not win. Finn wasn't consciously aware of the problem; all he knew was, the dates didn't work out for one reason or another.

One day, at Red's recommendation, Finn drove to the Medicine Wheel, ten-thousand feet up, in the Bighorns. It was an eighty-foot in diameter, wheel-like arrangement of stones, sacred to the Native Americans in the area. He stood quietly at the fence, among the humble prayer offerings of tobacco left by visitors, listening only to the wind. He had expected to feel a kind of peace, which is why he thought Red recommended he visit. Instead, at the top of this bare ridge, with a view for miles, a profound restlessness came over him. As much as he liked Sheridan, Finn suddenly knew that this was not _his place_. If the integration were to continue, it seemed, he would have to move on.

He told Red what happened.

"I wasn't expecting to be told I didn't belong here," he said, sipping a beer. Red shrugged.

"What makes you think you _do _belong here, man?" asked Red. "After all, you chose this place pretty much because it fit the prescription of an Army psychiatrist!" He gave a low rumbling chuckle at his joke. Finn laughed with him.

"Yeah, I kinda walked into that one," he said.

"Look. I know you've been feeling more…yourself, since coming here." Red was serious now. "But maybe to be complete, you need to be somewhere else. I mean, the dating hasn't worked out very well, now has it?"

"No," Finn admitted readily. "I'm not sure why, though."

"You aren't still hung up on that Rachel girl, are you?"

Finn was honest. "I don't think so, Red. I don't think she could give me what I need right now."

"And that is?"

"Something like you said your wife, Sandy, gave you when you met."

Red nodded slowly, then shook his head. "Finn, buddy, Sandy was an Army nurse in Nam, who lived here in Sheridan when I arrived 43 years ago. It was pure luck we met up. A woman who can relate to you at that level is rare. Besides, didn't you date that Army nurse?"

"Anne. Yes. But she's never been overseas."

Red drew another beer and placed it in front of Finn.

"It may be a mistake," he said, "to have such specific expectations."

Finn shrugged. "Maybe, but I can't help my feelings."

Red clapped his shoulder. "You're right, man. But do me a favor. At least stay the winter."

Finn did more than that. He worked at the garage well into the spring, to build up his cash reserves, then left Sheridan and drove north, into Montana. He'd always wanted to visit Glacier National Park, and entered it at the start of the Memorial Day Weekend. Not a wise move: all the campsites were taken, so he spent the morning in the park, then pushed across the nearby border into Canada, where the holiday wasn't being observed. By late afternoon he found himself alone at the Belly River campground near Waterton Lakes National Park.

It was idyllic. The campground was situated among trees, which gave way to a grassy expanse, leading to the banks of the Belly River itself. To the west, the Canadian Rockies seemed to spring up from the ground like a giant, snow-covered wall. He knew that the famous Waterton Lakes were over there, somewhere. Big, jolly bumblebees buzzed lazily among the dandelions, and each site had a neatly stacked cord of firewood. The trash containers were bear-proof; the evening air, soft and clear.

Still, the Rockies, etched against the evening sky, and the quiet rush of the river gave him little peace. As he sat in his camp chair, nursing a beer, Finn realized a change in scenery wasn't going to cut it, that he needed something else to help him along. The only thing he knew for sure was, it wasn't Rachel, which disturbed him greatly, because there was a time he was equally as sure she was the answer to everything in his life. He went to sleep that night, and, as if in mockery, she came to him in a dream, singing on a stage, to the accolades of all. And he was sitting, where he once thought he always belonged, in the very front row.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning , Finn drove into the town of Waterton for some supplies. A herd of elk forced him to stop on the way when it emerged from a copse of trees and nonchalantly crossed the road in front of his car, delighting him. He realized it was Sunday, and hoped he wouldn't have any trouble finding anything open. He needn't have worried; it was the beginning of tourist season.

The small grocery had what he needed, even Molson beer. Finn heard Canadian Molson was much better than the imported stuff back home, and he was determined to give it a try. It went against his better judgment, but he also decided to buy gas in Waterton, knowing full well how expensive it would be.

While the tank filled, he spread out a map of Montana and Wyoming on the hood of his truck, studying where he planned to go next. Yellowstone looked promising to him, but his thoughts were broken by a woman's voice:

"That's a nice _pakul_ you're wearing—did you get it in Afghanistan?"

He looked up in surprise, touching his hat, which was the _pakul_, a traditional male Afghan cap. A white sedan was at the curb, driver's window rolled down, with the letters "RCMP" on the side. The door opened, and out stepped the first real Mountie Finn had ever seen in person.

She was tall, five-nine at least, athletically-built, with very dark hair, fair skin, and sea-gray eyes, like a warrior-princess from some Celtic saga. Apparently, she was in her dress uniform: the brilliant red serge tunic, long dark blue skirt, and a black military-style female's cap. She saw him staring and shrugged, while at the same time giving him a dazzling smile.

"It's Sunday and I have front desk duty," she said in explanation. "I'm Constable Jane Feeney, RCMP. Pleased to meet you."

He smiled. "Finn Hudson. And yes, I got this in Afghanistan. Have you been there? "

She nodded. "I was in the Canadian Forces Military Police over there before joining the RCMP."

They chatted briefly. The RCMP maintained a detachment at Waterton Lakes National Park during tourist season, and Jane was working the desk that day. During the rest of the year she worked at the detachment in Cardston. Finn simply told her he served in Afghanistan, and that he was staying at Belly River for a few days.

She looked at her watch. "Well, Mr. Hudson, I'm overdue at work. Welcome to Canada, and enjoy your stay." Before turning to leave, she added, "I'm glad you made it back safely."

"You too," Finn replied, waving, and when she was out of earshot gave a low whistle.

His sleep that night was unbroken and dreamless.

The next morning he was having coffee, picking at his guitar while sitting on the picnic table. Red had started him playing, and he was surprised to find how quickly he picked it up. Here, at the start of what was going to be a gorgeous spring day, the idea for the melody of a song came to him, so he ran through it a few times, then went to the truck and found his pad of music paper, which he hadn't used since high school, but for some reason kept.

He was writing it down when a green, mud-spattered Land Rover pulled up by his car. A woman got out and walked towards him.

It was Jane. She was dressed casually this time, almost like him: red plaid flannel shirt, jeans and boots. Her dark hair was down, shoulder–length, wavy. He was pleasantly surprised at how much he appreciated that the shirt didn't hide the substantial swell of her breasts. She carried a thermos and a small white bag.

"I thought by now you could appreciate some decent coffee," she said, again with that killer smile.

"Hi Constable," Finn said, grinning. "Dressed a bit casually for work, aren't you? But you're right; I could use some decent coffee."

"Took a vacation day," she replied, pouring into his cup, "Which my boss owed me for taking someone else's shift." She filled the thermos cup for herself, and opened the bag, offering it to him. "Donut hole?"

They were glazed. His favorite.

"God, this coffee is good," he exclaimed, then popped a donut hole in his mouth.

"I'm glad you like it black—it's a pretty strong roast, and I grind it myself."

He nodded as he chewed.

"So, what plans do you have for your vacation day?" He tentatively felt his way, not wanting to appear too forward.

She immediately put him at ease.

"I was wondering if you could use some company, and if you like, a home cooked meal."

Sweet. Open. Direct. He liked that. And she was very pretty—from certain angles she resembled the actress Mary-Louise Parker.

"I'd like that very much," he replied.

She smiled, and he could see a touch of relief on her face. So she'd been taking chances too. Like Rachel did, with that picnic in the auditorium, he thought.

They finished the coffee and the donut holes, and talked. Jane was divorced. Her ex-husband had been in the military police with her, and joined the RCMP when she did. But he wasn't able to handle the big city ("He thinks Cardston is the big city"), while she couldn't handle the isolation of the Northwest Territories, where he was finally stationed.

"Talk about irreconcilable differences," she said sadly, "But he's happier now."

"Are you?" Finn asked, as gently as he could.

"No," was her honest reply. He changed the subject.

"How's the fishing here?" That made her smile.

"Come on." Jane got up. "I'll show you".

They walked down to the river's edge. It had a slow, stately flow.

"The Belly's full of Brown Trout," Jane said, deadpan. "Pun intended."

He said he'd always wanted to learn how to fly fish. She shyly offered to teach him, assuming he had a visa. And a place to stay, he reminded her. She nodded, then added drily, "and a job." They laughed.

When it was time for lunch, Finn was pleasantly surprised to find that Jane had packed a picnic basket. She gave him a choice of fresh egg salad or turkey sandwiches; he chose the turkey.

"I don't know, Finn, I make a mean egg salad ," she said, but didn't seem to really mind. She also brought beer in a cooler, Wilds Rose IPA, an Alberta microbrew. It was delicious.

She'd been born near Edmonton, and was a year-and-a-half older than Finn. Her parents were farmers. He told her more about himself. About Glee and Nationals, and Rachel. She listened carefully as they ate, then raised her eyebrows.

"You almost got married to her twice? Are you sure you're done?"

Finn sighed. "I know how it must sound. But Jane, we tried, and it was just too painful. And now I don't think we could ever relate to each other like we used to. I think my life makes more sense out West, while hers makes more sense in New York."

"Boy, can I relate to that," Jane said. She put her hand on his arm.

"Listen, Finn…" He could tell this wasn't easy for her to say, "… I went through something harrowing in Afghanistan, like you…a riot at the prison where I was stationed… hostages taken and killed, including some MP's I knew. And I had to go through the same stages you've been going through to get my head straight. But I made it, mostly because I had someone who could relate to my experience."

"Your husband?"

"Yeah. Brian got me through it before our marriage went south."

Something struck him at that moment. It was what Red had said, about meeting his wife. He stared at Jane intently, perhaps too much so, because her eyes began to flick back and forth, like Rachel's did when she was apprehensive.

"Are you okay?" she asked, uncomfortable.

He snapped out of it.

"Yeah, yeah…I'm okay." He swallowed some beer. For now it was enough to just be in the company of a pretty, interesting woman who had no trouble understanding what he had just been through.

Jane visibly relaxed, and soon was looking at his music pad.

"So you still write songs?"

"Not really. I just had an idea for a melody this morning. It's the first time I've tried anything since high school."

"Yet you still carry around a pad of music paper."

He took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, I guess so. Force of habit."

Jane looked down. "I play guitar," she said, carefully. "Want to go work on the song at my place? I can cook that meal I promised you, too."

Something, far in the back of his mind, told Finn this was the right thing to do, even if it felt like crossing the Rubicon, with no going back. He put his cap back on.

"Sounds great," he replied, with an honest smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: lyrics are from "Love is Just a Four-Letter Word," by Bob Dylan**

Jane lived in a secluded, one-story, modest house tucked in the foothills near Waterton, at the end of a winding, gravel road. It had a big porch that gave a partial view of the lakes. Finn helped put away the leftovers from the picnic in her large, airy kitchen, then followed her into the living room, which was dominated by a stone fireplace and a massive bearskin rug. He commented on it, wondering inwardly how Rachel would have reacted.

"It was a gift from the Blood Tribe Police Service, for my help last year in finding some kidnapped children from the reserve. One of the children was the niece of an officer. His great-great-grandfather killed the bear in nineteen-eighteen. It was quite an honor for me."

"I can imagine," Finn said, impressed. She grabbed a guitar and they went out on the porch and sat on the stairs. The distant lake glittered.

He showed her the chords for the song and they ran through the melody a few times. It was in a minor key, and had a bluesy feel to it. Jane was better than he was.

"Do you have any lyrics for it yet?"

"No. Only a feeling…and some images. I was thinking about how a bird must feel when it takes its first flight. Or a prisoner being released after a long sentence." He paused. "Or a lover finally letting go."

She studied him for a moment, and then put down the guitar, pulling her knees up to her chest, staring at the lake.

"Have you let go?" she asked, unwilling to let him see her face clearly.

He stared out at the lake, too.

"Yes," he replied, 'But I think it left some almighty scars."

"I've got some scars of my own," she said, finally looking at him with a smile, and picked up her guitar again.

"Do you like Dylan?"

Finn had to admit he didn't know much of his music. Jane gave him a mock look of concern.

"You poor child," she said, and began a song with a lilting, rambling melody. Her voice was strong and clear, lacking Rachel's power and range, but impressive nonetheless:

_Seems like only yesterday  
I left my mind behind  
Down in the Gypsy Café  
With a friend of a friend of mine  
She sat with a baby heavy on her knee  
Yet spoke of life most free from slavery  
With eyes that showed no trace of misery  
A phrase in connection first with she occurred  
That love is just a four letter word_

_Outside a rattling storefront window  
Cats meowed to the break of day  
Me, I kept my mouth shut,  
To you I had no words to say  
My experience was limited and underfed  
You were talking while I hid  
To the one who was the father of your kid  
You probably didn't think I did, but I heard  
You say that love is just a four letter word_

_I said goodbye unnoticed  
Pushed towards things in my own games  
Drifting in and out of lifetimes  
Unmentionable by name  
Searching for my double, looking for  
Complete evaporation to the core  
Though I tried and failed at finding any door  
I must have thought that there was nothing more  
Absurd than that love is just a four letter word_

_Though I never knew just what you meant  
When you were speaking to your man  
I can only think in terms of me  
And now I understand  
After waking enough times to think I see  
The Holy Kiss that's supposed to last eternity  
Blow up in smoke, its destiny  
Falls on strangers, travels free  
Yes, I know now, traps are only set by me  
And I do not really need to be  
Assured that love is just a four letter word_

When she finished, Finn didn't say anything for a few moments. He was too caught up in the lyrics, the density of words and the odd, yet effective imagery. It was a revelation. Jane threw him a bemused expression.

"Wow. Just wow," he said finally.

"The song,or the performer?" she teased, then got up. " Looks like you may have caught the Dylan bug. Listen, let's go inside. You can take a shower and we'll listen to some prime Dylan, maybe _Blonde on Blonde. _Then I'll start preparing dinner. We'll eat early and listen some more if you like. "

"That would be fantastic," he said. "The shower and everything else. I must reek."

Jane wrinkled her nose. "Yeah. Hopefully you clean up nice." She showed him the spacious, neat bathroom, mentioned that the water heater was small, so military showers were recommended, then handed him some towels, while he laid out the change of clothes and shaving kit he had brought. She looked embarrassed when he caught her looking him up and down before she left.

The bathroom had a very large shower, much to his relief. He used just enough water to get wet, then soaped and shampooed up with the water turned off, then rinsed. He was more leisurely with his shave. He smiled into the mirror. He liked this girl.

Jane had a stack of LP's ready when he returned to the living room. She beckoned him to the couch. He noticed the high-end turntable, electronics and speakers for the first time. "Booty from the divorce," she explained breezily, "Besides, almost all of the LP's are mine." One wall had shelves of them from floor to ceiling.

She handed Finn the cover for _Blonde on Blonde. _"It's kind of the sacred album for Dylan fans," she said, and put side one on the turntable. "Have a beer while I put your clothes in the washer."

He sat back and sipped some more Wild Rose, and immediately recognized the first song, with its demand that everybody must get stoned.

"Yeah, everybody knows that one," Jane said when she returned, joining him on the couch. "Red plaid boxers? Seriously?"

He shrugged, smiling. "Could have been Spongebob Squarepants."

She shuddered. They chatted through a couple of songs, but Jane stopped talking when she saw Finn suddenly become engrossed in the music. It was "Visions of Johanna", one of Dylan's best songs ever, in her opinion, and she sat back and enjoyed watching him enjoy it. He fascinated her. Her first impression of him was that of a giant, good-looking mountain man. She freely admitted to herself and to her girl friends later, that his looks just made her melt. But he also had a perceptive, artistic facet, one that hadn't been allowed to fully blossom, for whatever reason. She didn't know how much the war had damaged him; not irreparably, she hoped.

They listened through to the end of the album. Finn said he only recognized one other song, "Just Like a Woman". Jane started to get up. "I'll make dinner. Hope you like pork chops. My dad raised and dressed the pork himself," she said, but was prevented from rising fully by Finn's hand on her arm. His eyes willed her to stay, and she let him pull her into a kiss, soft and sweet, which she returned gladly. She licked her lips afterwards, and almost went in for another herself, but decided not to be greedy.

"That was nice," she murmured. He nodded. "But you didn't answer my question about the pork chops."

"They sound fantastic. I can't remember the last time I had them."

Jane liked a man with an appetite. Finn had wolfed down the chop, baked potato and her garden-grown asparagus.

"Don't eat the bone,' she joked, "I save those for my neighbor's dog."

Finn wiped his mouth with his napkin and grinned. "My eating was kind of legendary in high school. This was wonderful. Thanks."

He helped her clear the plates, and poured them coffee while she sliced up an apple pie. "Sorry, store-bought. I can't bake for crap."

They took their coffee into the living room, only this time Jane sat close to Finn, resting her head on his shoulder. They stayed that way for some time, both seeming to just need the closeness of another human being. Finn remembered Afghanistan, where it sometimes got so cold he and his buddies would huddle together for warmth. He thought about how he loved them. One of the first things he learned over there was that they weren't fighting for their country or the folks back home. Each man fought for the man next to him, having his back, comforting him if he was wounded, and, if necessary, soothing him as he died. He apporeciated how Jane understood this, and let him just enjoy her physical presence. He also appreciated her femininity, despite the fact she must also be tough as nails to do what she did for a living. Her right breast, infinitely soft, rested against his chest.

And he was lonely. Maybe she was, too. She smelled fresh, alive. He felt her tense, ever so slightly before whispering over the silence:

"Stay with me tonight." She caressed his face and kissed him, hard, before he could even answer. He kissed her back strongly in response.

Her bedroom was small and spare, but the bed itself was big and inviting. As they took off their clothes, Finn saw Jane turn away from him. At first he thought she was being modest, but as she removed her jeans and black panties, and after he appreciated her perfectly-shaped buttocks, he saw it. An angry red dent above her right hip, small, almost perfectly round. When she was completely naked, she stood, still facing away from him.

"Other than medical personnel, my husband is the only man who has seen this," she choked out. "You can turn until I get in bed if you like."

"Turn around, Jane," Finn ordered, gently. She hesitated for just a moment, then slowly complied, shutting her eyes. He could see her struggling to keep her arms at her sides.

She was beautiful, he thought: generous, firm breasts; taut, flat belly; somewhat narrow hips; long, toned legs. She was completely hairless. And there, above her right hip, was the exit wound: a large- perhaps half the size of his fist- irregular, red depression. She was trembling.

Finn came around and took her in his arms, kissing her still-closed eyes, leading her to the bed. The first thing he did was wriggle down and kiss the wound, as she involuntarily shuddered.

"I can't wear a bikini anymore," she whispered, as he came up to kiss her, "And I used to rock a bikini."

"You still can, in my book," he said, nuzzling her neck, "You're beautiful."

She had been wearing light body armor during the riot in the prison, but it rode up as she bent to drag a dying MP away from the fighting. One of the Taliban prisoners shot her in the back with a rifle provided by a traitorous Afghan police officer.

"I took the bastard out with my sidearm before collapsing," she said with grim satisfaction. "That wiped the fucking grin off his face."

She stopped with a humorless chuckle. "Great pillow-talk, eh? I guess that ruined the mood…"

Finn instinctively knew what she needed right then; the two of them clung to each other, entwined, until sleep drove the memories away.

Nightmares, if there were any, remained mercifully unremembered.


	4. Chapter 4

The clock face read 2:35 AM. Rachel sighed quietly, unable to sleep. Outside of their apartment, the city went about its perpetual business, but the sounds from the street weren't keeping her up. She lay on her right side, facing the window. The streetlights, filtered through the curtains, faintly illuminated the room.

"Still awake?" His throat sounded dry.

"Yes," she answered. "Did I wake you?"

"No."

She felt him shift, fumbling for his glasses on the night table. He swallowed some water from the glass there. She waited for it to come, knew it was coming, but still was startled when he actually, finally, asked the question:

"You're thinking about Finn, aren't you?"

Tom's voice wasn't angry, or accusatory, just sad, almost resigned. Rachel still lay on her side, not yet ready to face him.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I know."

She felt his hand on her shoulder, gently tugging. When she finally turned onto her other side, she could see his round lenses shining in the dim light. He was stretched out on his side, head propped up by his right hand. His left gently stroked her arm, and her first instinct was to shrug it off, because she didn't deserve to be soothed when right in the middle of breaking the heart of a decent man.

"I never wanted to hurt you." It sounded trite and false to her as she said it. But it was, at least, the truth.

He let out a long sigh.

"I was aware of the risks involved in loving you."

She reached out and touched his cheek. There was a tear.

"You know I do love you, right?"

He nodded.

"Yes, but nothing near the way you love him. And I wanted you to love me that way. Who wouldn't want that? It's fucking Shakespearian." A pause. "It was foolish of me to think you could have ever just given up loving him."

At that moment he broke her heart, too, because he took her hand and said, with admiration in his voice, and not a trace of bitterness:

"Rachel Berry never gives up."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

She couldn't shake the feeling she had used him, at least in the matter of his heart. But it had felt so perfect then, right after the breakup. Tom Foley was brilliant and good-looking, finishing up a musical, _Montague Street_, he had been writing for his senior project at NYADA. Rachel was starting her junior year, and was making a name for herself by beating out the opera majors for the lead role of the Governess in the school's production of Benjamin Britten's _The Turn of the Screw_. It was a gutsy move for a Musical Theatre major, but Rachel wanted to really stretch her voice before aiming at the senior musical the next year. The operatic faculty were impressed, but most noted she was fortunate that the opera was in English. That, however, didn't stop Carmen Thibidaux from joking that the school now had their first "Double Triple Threat".

She was having dinner in the dining hall with some classmates when he sat down opposite her.

"Hi Rachel," he said, reaching out to formally shake her hand, "I'm Tom Foley."

Of course, everyone at the table knew who he was. NYADA only had two student composers, and Tom was the best known.

"Pleased to meet you," Rachel said, flattered that he knew her name. Her friends were impressed as well. He was small and compact, with intense blue eyes behind round, horn-rimmed glasses, under a curly mop of sandy hair. Unlike most of the trendy students, he dressed simply in an open-necked white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and jeans.

"I saw your performance last week," Tom said, "And I was really impressed."

She blushed.

"Thank you. I've really liked what I've heard of _Montague Street_. Isn't it going to be used next year as the senior musical?"

"If I can bring myself to finish it," he winked. "You should try out for the lead."

She felt giddy, and then a little cocky.

"I plan on getting it," she said, with an impish grin. "Is that why you're here, to recruit me?"

He gave her a sly, sexy grin, which caused a stir to ripple through her friends.

"Since there is no need to recruit you, I thought I'd just ask you to dinner tomorrow. It's Friday, after all."

She surprised herself as well as her friends. Dating had seemed like another stressor she didn't need after the breakup, but the fact was, Rachel missed the company of a man.

"That sounds great," she said.

He surprised her.

"Rumor has it you're vegan."

"That's right. Is it a problem?"

"Not at all. It just tells me where I have to make reservations." He got up. "May I pick you up at seven?"

She nodded, shyly, and he left.

"Damn, girl," said Bianca, her roommate.

He was from San Clemente, California, from a fairly well-off family that he loved dearly. He complimented her on her short, Santana-vetted black dress, asked if he could taste her vegan manicotti, and, much to Rachel's relief, did not bring Finn up once, even though he probably knew all about him. He was witty, literate and charming, without a hint of self-absorption. They shared a bottle of chianti.

Half-way through the meal, Tom revealed a secret to her: the reason he was somewhat behind in finishing _Montague Street_ was that he was also beginning to develop another musical, one he would eventually try and get produced after he graduated. Not only that, after seeing her operatic performance, he was convinced she would be perfect for the female lead.

"The music, so far, is going to be exceptionally difficult. I need someone who can handle it."

It was called _Mount Olympus Blues,_ a modern take on the Hermaphroditus story from Greek mythology. Sally, the female lead character, was the rapacious water nymph Salmacis.

"You're the perfect package," he said, "Beautiful and petite, like a water nymph, but with a powerhouse voice."

It wouldn't be fair to say Rachel fell under Tom's spell that night. The truth was, they bewitched each other. As the year progressed, Tom did manage to finish Montague Street (admitting to not being satisfied with it once it was done), but he and Rachel also met in a rehearsal room with a piano at least once a week, often very late at night, to work on the early sketches for _Mount Olympus Blues_.

One night they split a bottle of Scotch to celebrate the finishing of the first complete draft of a song, and ended up sleeping together for the first time.

Kurt and Blaine, who had always advocated Rachel and Finn staying together, finally seemed willing to let go, know that she had found somebody who respected her talent and who adored her personally. Tom, while remaining professionally intense, was gracious to her friends, and treated her well. "Jesse St James with an asshole filter" was how Santana, who was working in Brooklyn as a barista and singing at night, described him.

She moved into an apartment with him her senior year, after he graduated, and after they confessed their love for each other. With some help from his family, Tom could now work full time on the new musical. It was a giddy time for the two of them, because, as her own graduation approached, Rachel decided to focus on being the female lead in his musical, even though the excellent NYADA Broadway connection network garnered her two solid, guaranteed, offers for non-lead roles once she graduated. It was risky, she knew, but the potential rewards if it became a hit, could be enormous.

But Finn was never far from her mind, because, while they may have broken up, she still prayed for his safety every night. And all of her work, ultimately, was devoted to being worthy of that sacrifice he made at the train station. As the time drew close for the end of his tour, it only got worse. And now, with the end of his tour only several weeks away, he preyed on her mind almost constantly.

"Don't be sorry, Rachel," Tom said.

And then he said something remarkable.

"What you have with him, what you called a tether, simply isn't of this world. It doesn't accommodate itself to this world, either; the world accommodates to it."

She let him pull her close to him, and rested her head on his chest.

"You and Finn didn't give up on each other. You were just two people, people of this world, connected by this unearthly force, who simply wanted the pain to stop. Breaking up, finding someone else, that was all like prescribing morphine for a gunshot wound. You've been bleeding all of this time, Rachel, you just didn't feel it, and I didn't see it until it was too late. Too late for me."

"Oh, Tom…" she murmured in sorrow. "What do we do now? I can move out…"

"No. We need to stay close, to get the work done. Because I know you need to do this. We both do. There's the second bedroom. We can be roommates, artistic partners." Then he pulled up her face to his. "And I hope, friends." He suddenly groaned. "God, it just felt like I was in one of those damned rom-coms."

She smiled through the tears, and then kissed him, long, sweetly, sincerely.

"Thank you," she said. And then she felt suddenly energized.

"Okay. I know it's three in the morning, but we're getting up. You make the coffee, and I'll make you your all-time favorite breakfast. You know, Full English: bacon, eggs, and fried cherry tomatoes. Then, " she laughed, her cockiness restored, "Then I'm going to make you a star."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Many thanks for those hanging in on this story! Lyrics are from "Visions of Johanna", by Bob Dylan **

When Finn awoke, Jane had already left for work. She left him a note:

_Thank you for last night. It was just what I needed—almost. Breakfast is in the fridge. Just heat it up. Meet me at the police station at 11:30. You're taking me out to lunch. - J _

He made himself some fresh coffee and went out on her deck in the back. The weather was still cool, but clear and breezy. Two white mountain sheep grazed contentedly on the grass in her backyard. After eating and showering he checked on his campsite. It hadn't been disturbed. He left a payment for two more days in the box, just in case. He wanted to stay with Jane, but didn't know what the visa situation was. Besides, he really didn't know if she even wanted him to stay. They could talk about that at lunch.

The RCMP station in Waterton was an old Tudor design house, complete with stone chimney, located on a corner on Waterton Ave. Finn walked up to the young male constable behind the desk, and asked for Constable Feeney.

"Jane!", the constable called, 'Somebody here to see you!" He looked at Finn with interest.

Jane came out of another room and smiled.

"Let's go, " she said. Jane was wearing the standard duty uniform: pale blue, short-sleeved shirt, dark blue trousers with a yellow stripe, and a bluish-gray pocketed vest. She waved at the desk as she walked out with him, tugging the dark blue hat with the yellow mesh stripe over her pulled-back hair.

She took his arm, almost exactly as Rachel used to, while they walked to a small, nearby restaurant. As they were seated he noticed her sidearm.

"What do they issue the RCMP?" he wondered. Jane looked over the menu after having ordered iced tea.

"Smith and Wesson 5946 nine-millimeter,"she answered. "I'll have a BLT."_  
_

He nodded. He was going to have a meatball sandwich and a beer. He told her about extending his stay at the campground for a couple more days. She gave an exaggerated sigh and pouted.

"And here I was thinking I was saving you a few bucks by having you stay with me."

Suddenly he felt like he was in high school again, "Well, you hadn't invited me for another night…I didn't want to appear presumptuous… Is it okay if I stay with you? Because that would be awesome…I..."

Her eyes twinkled as she put her hands over his.

"You can stay as long as you want, Finn. But if you want to get a job, however, we'll need to get you a better visa."

"I'd like to stay longer than a few days, and get a job," he said, and her face broke into a wide smile.

"Well, you're in luck. The RCMP is a federal agency. I'll see what we can do about that."

She reached over the table and pulled him by the collar into a kiss. There was clapping from the bar, and Jane beamed at them.

"Also, stop by Hansen's garage just down the block. They're hiring, if you're interested. Since you're with me, they'll work around the immigration issues. A girl could use help with the mortgage, you know."

Finn just stared in appreciation.

She returned home with a pizza.

"I hope you like sausage and mushroom," she said, putting it on the table as he opened some of the Molsons he had bought earlier.

"Can't let them go to waste," he said, "Even though those Wild Roses are amazing."

She left to get changed, and returned with her dark, wavy hair down and flowing, wearing just a blue plaid flannel shirt and black panties, and breezed onto his lap, kissing him.

"You like black underwear," he noted.

"Only when I have gentlemen callers," she laughed. "Actually, I just grabbed them blindly from the drawer this morning."

"I got the job. Well, almost—Hansen said he'd drop by and talk to you about the visa situation."

"Excellent!" Jane beamed, still on his lap, waving a slice. "What did you do with the rest of your day?" She took a huge bite of pizza.

"I packed up my campsite, and then listened to records. That Joan Baez one of Dylan covers is amazing."

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh yeah, her voice gives me chills."

Jane kissed Finn again, and tasted of Italian sausage, which aroused him even more than he already was. She felt it against her thigh and leaned over, whispering in his ear:

"Does this mean I'm going to get lucky tonight?"

She wasn't as shy this time around. Finn found her different size and rhythms and taste exciting, as she found his. And when they were finished, exhausted, the sleep was deep and satisfying. It staved off the demons, at least for one more night.

Xxxxxx

Inevitably, the nightmares did come. Four nights later, after celebrating Finn's getting the job, Jane was startled awake by him thrashing wildly, grunting and muttering. When it didn't seem to taper off, she remembered what Brian had done for her, and modified it for a man.

Maneuvering his twitching body until he was in her arms, she hugged Finn tightly. Fortunately, she was strong enough to keep the pressure on as he initially bucked but then quickly relaxed, as if by reflex. However, to truly bring him out of the grip of the dream, she had to wake him up. First, while still holding him tightly, Jane began kissing his forehead, eyes, and lips. She could feel him start to come out of it, so she let go with one hand, and brought it down to cup his testicles, gently but firmly, then dragged her palm upwards, over his penis. Finn's eyes popped open in surprise, and even though he was still partially asleep, she felt him quickly become aroused. She grasped him, and as the grip of the dream finally broke, brought Finn to climax as he became fully conscious.

She remembered what that felt like, seeing her husband's kind face coming into focus, as if she had almost drowned and he had pulled her out of the water just in time, her screaming with the pleasure of starved lungs filling with that first, intense breath of impossibly sweet air. She remembered how much she had loved him then.

Jane released Finn onto his back, where he lay gasping, eyes glazed over in a mixture of horror and pleasure. She cleaned him with a Kleenex from the night stand. He smiled weakly as she leaned down to kiss him.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah. Does the Army know about this technique? It's awesome!"

She grinned at him.

"You mean, 'Fucking the Demons Away'? That's what Brian called it. "

Finn chuckled, but was absolutely drained. She turned out the light, and brought him to her, resting his head on her breast.

"Go to sleep now, baby," she said.

"But what about you?" he asked.

Jane kissed the top of his head.

"You can pleasure me in the morning. It's the weekend."

But he was already asleep.

XXXxxxx

They remained together for two years.

She taught him how to fly fish. He chopped wood for their elderly neighbors. They went snowshoeing in Banff. He wrote songs. They comforted each other when the nightmares came. They led a simple, quiet life.

But, even though the nightmares finally eased, other, unbidden dreams rose to take their place. Early one morning he found her crying at the kitchen table. She didn't tell him she had a vivid dream about her husband. He caught himself almost calling Jane "Rachel" in the middle of a completely relaxed, normal conversation, after dreaming about her.

Each began to wonder the same thing: why, at the point when they felt so happy and good together, when they had finally managed to wrest power away from that fucking war, did the patient ghosts of Brian and Rachel have to step forward again?

XXXxxxx

They were standing on the southern shore of The Great Slave Lake, on a seaplane dock at Fort Resolution. It was late spring, perfectly clear, some ice still present, with a brisk wind, cold off the choppy lake. They were both dressed in RCMP regulation fur hats and heavy coats. She hoped her tears wouldn't freeze. Her husband stood, his six-foot-one frame bent to hold her, unable to speak. They had talked it through so many times, argued, cried, attempted to compromise, and now, reluctantly, were giving up. Neither had ever loved anyone else. They had been together through war, her terrible wound and rehabilitation, and joining one of the premier police organizations in the world. It surprised and saddened both of them to discover that the war's last cruel parting shot was the inability of one to live where the other had to be, to save his sanity.

"Don't go," she whispered, one last time. She tried clinging to him on the bobbing dock, to try and hold him back.

Gently—she flashed back, crazily, to how gentle he was the first time they made love-he pulled away. Her wound sympathetically ached.

"I love you," he said, and then was gone. The sturdy yellow RCMP seaplane coughed into life, and then skimmed the cold blue water before lifting her husband, her lover, her best friend, up and away. Away from her. She stood, sobbing, bobbing wildly as the plane's wake hit the floating dock, straining to see the yellow dot in the sky until it disappeared over the lake. She felt bereft, disfigured, and alone.

XXXXxxxx

She was singing, up on stage where she was born to be, a tiny person bringing an entire audience to its feet with the power of her remarkable instrument. He stood in the front row with them, flowers in hand, to give to her afterwards. And as she bowed, awash with adulation, she caught his eye, giving him that same smile she wore when he told her he loved her for the very first time.

Then she was gone. So was the audience. He was alone; holding the flowers, which had now wilted because he was wasn't able to make his way backstage. He could feel her, though: warm, loving, calmly beating inside of his chest. Waiting. Waiting for him to finish his business with Eddie, Trevor, and Bill, who had gathered at the back of the theater.

XXXXxxxx

Jane and Finn eventually told each other about the dreams at breakfast one day, sitting at the kitchen table, spring morning sunshine coming in through the window.

"Finn, you know that Dylan song you love the most? 'Visions of Johanna'? It could be about us, you know. "

Jane seemed saddened, but somehow philosophical about it all.

Finn, heartsick, didn't make the connection.

"How?"

"It's about two women, Louise and Johanna. Louise is available, and sensual. Johanna never appears at all, but remains this remote, but unavoidable vision in the room that the narrator can't deny:

_Louise, she's all right, she's just near  
She's delicate and seems like the mirror  
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear  
That Johanna's not here" _

She went over, sat on his lap, and kissed him, smiling through her own tears.

"Don't you see? We are each other's Louise."

"But…I love you," he said, voice trembling.

She kissed him again.

"I love you too baby, but we are here, in this world, for them, our Johannas. They're telling us this. And I think that we should listen."

They made love their last night together, a parting gift to one another, because it was right and true. They had come to love and heal each other, managing to erase the worst of the war's scars, the non-corporeal ones, and in doing so came closer to reconciling with the true loves of their lives. Their relationship was at least one shred of decency to come out of the war's otherwise grotesque, hideous legacy.

Jane was going to try and reach out to Brian. Maybe he could handle more civilization now.

Finn headed south, but he was still not ready to head back home. He still had to square his feelings of guilt over surviving, while Eddie, Trevor and Bill did not. But his time with Jane suggested there was possibly a way.

He would bring them back to life through song. _  
_


	6. Chapter 6

When her name was called, Rachel Berry's body went into automatic, a routine she had been preparing for her entire life. Keep smiling. Stand up. Hug and kiss (husband/boyfriend/date). Don't stumble getting to the aisle. Don't trip on the stairs. Try and avoid a wardrobe malfunction. Don't rip the Tony from the presenter's hands. Give acceptance speech. Ignore time limit (what are they going to do, pull you off with a hook?).

It didn't go quite as she had envisioned. Tom, of course, was fine. He hugged her, as did his new girlfriend, Emily. Kurt, Rachel's date, however, was crying and for a few seconds just wouldn't let her go. He even managed to get a few tears on the dress he designed for her, a form-fitting, ivory silk, off-the-shoulder stunner ("Now that's one Berry good enough to eat!", Santana had remarked earlier, as she was getting ready). However, he eventually let her go, and she moved towards the aisle, to the overwhelming affirmation of applause.

It was perhaps her earliest memory, only a flash, barely there. Warm, bright sunshine, safe and giggling in her Daddy's arms on the soft grass, trying to imitate him singing to her. Her dads always joked about how she started singing immediately after taking her first breath; perhaps they weren't exaggerating.

Little Jemima Mortenson was throwing a tantrum in kindergarten, blonde hair flying, because "Big Nose" was chosen to lead the class show for their parents. The whole class was laughing.

She reached the end of the aisle, and carefully started down towards the steps. Kurt was a genius; the gown felt so good against her skin, yet didn't impede her walking in any way.

6th grade, and Rachel is singing the national anthem for the assembly. An egg sails out of the audience. She sees it, and deftly stands aside. It lands among the chorus amassed behind her, striking Jemima Mortenson squarely on her forehead.

She sings "Don't Rain on My Parade" at the 8th grade talent show. And again for New Directions' first sectionals. And yet again at her disastrous NYADA audition.

Rachel reached the steps. She looked up, seeing Brian Stokes Mitchell and Betty Buckley waiting to present her the award.

And, of course, she saw him, with crown and sceptre, waiting for her as well. She wondered where he was, where he had been, in the almost three years since his return from Afghanistan. Well, she told herself, ascending the steps, that was something she was determined to find out.

The applause, the acceptance, was overwhelming.

It all happened so fast, she thought.

Tom took advantage of NYADA's excellent contacts with the New York theatre world. Soon after he and Rachel had put together some of the songs, he was granted a meeting with Billie West and Jim Fineman, a producing team known for taking chances on new works. They listened to some recordings he had made and decided they liked it. They also asked more about this Rachel Berry who was singing. He told them she was a dear friend who had been involved in the development from the very beginning, and that he could not imagine anyone else performing the part of Sally. That raised a pair of eyebrows. They weren't willing to take this big a risk on someone's girlfriend, he was told in no uncertain terms. Tom was able to assuage them, saying they had been involved once, that it didn't work out, but instead had gone on to form a very good working relationship. Fortunately, West and Fineman didn't watch many rom-coms, and instead said they wanted Rachel to come and show them some songs in person.

Her audition convinced them to go ahead with the project. They were able to obtain initial funding quickly. Regular work shops were set up right away, and, by sheer luck, the Little Schubert Theater (an off-Broadway venue, even though it was located in the traditional Broadway district. A play or musical is called 'Off-Broadway' primarily due to the size of the venue, Broadway theaters being much larger) was booked for the premiere.

The pace of the work up to the premiere was frantic. At times Tom lost it, convinced that the rushing would ruin what he had in mind, but having Rachel living there helped, even though they weren't lovers anymore.

One night, after a grueling workshop, the two of them were so exhausted they were almost catatonic, yet could not sleep. They wound up falling into bed together, holding onto each other until sleep, mercifully overcame them. Each woke up surprised but refreshed, and ended up laughing about it. It wasn't awkward or heavy. It was just something the work, the blessed work, enabled the two of them to do without ruining what they had.

Rachel was overjoyed when Finn got out of the Army, but when she found out his post-military plans from Kurt, she almost fell into despair.

"What if he has given up on me?" she lamented to Kurt over coffee.

He touched her arm across the table.

"Rachel, I feel, in my bones, that the two of you are incapable of giving up on each other. It may take a long time, but I think my brother will eventually reach the point where he can rejoin his family, and be with you again. I just don't know when that will be. Nobody knows where he is, and I can understand that; Carole, bless her heart, wouldn't be able to resist rushing to him. But he faithfully sends her little emails, once a month, telling her he is okay, and feeling better every time. She hangs on those, Rachel, like a life preserver. And I promise to keep you in the loop, too."

"I miss him, Kurt. And there are times that I hate him for getting me to agree to break up. But you know what?" She paused, a serene smile suddenly appearing.

"What?"

"When I feel that way, I think back to what he told me, about letting the Universe do its thing. And the more time that goes by, and how I see things beginning to fall into place, I realize how right he was. And Kurt, the Universe isn't quite done. Because I'm not quite done. If I ever see him again I want to be able to tell him I did my part, that I justified his faith in me."

Kurt got up, and came around to hug her tightly.

"My brother was so lucky to find you," he said.

The work, as frantic and as daunting as it was, proved to be just what she needed. Every interminable rehearsal, every grueling workout, was one more step towards justifying his sacrifice for her.

The show was a smash. Within a few months, the demand was such that the show jumped to Broadway. Suddenly, it was the hottest ticket in town, and then the Tony award nominations came in. Best Musical . Best Original Score. Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical. Best Choreography.

On a June evening, a month after Finn and Jane parted, Rachel Berry heard her name called.

The presenters were old Broadway pros, and handed the award to her carefully, because Rachel still seemed in shock. She stood, still smiling, but trembling.

"I wouldn't be here if not for a lot of wonderfully talented people," she began, somewhat breathless, "not all of whom I can name. If you don't hear your name, it's not because I didn't want to honor you, but because they-" she pointed backstage- "won't let me." There was a huge chuckle from the audience. She saw Neil Patrick Harris snickering in the wings.

"You know, I've had the privilege of being associated with _Mount Olympus Blues_ from the very beginning. In fact, I remember being in college, working with my dear friend Tom Foley, late at night, when the songs were nothing but bare outlines in his head. Even then, I knew he was a visionary, and it pleases me no end that you have decided to honor that vision tonight with so many nominations." Tom sat and smiled shyly, and Rachel noticed Emily almost overwhelmed with pride for him. She was glad she had been able to introduce Tom to one of the best up-and-coming choreographers in the business.

"Of course, we'd be nowhere without the calm, guiding hands of our producers, Billie West and Jerry Fineman, whose amazing hard work got us on Broadway so quickly. Thanks for that!"

She paused, because the emotion was welling up.

"I'd also like to thank my dads, Hiram and LeRoy Berry, for raising me to believe I could achieve my dreams, and supporting me every step of the way. I love you both, so much." She waved to them in the audience. The pride on her parent's faces could not be measured. The audience's applause for them was deafening, and it warmed her heart to see them in an environment where they were recognized and admired instead of being despised.

"And to Kurt Hummel, who designed my dress, thanks for making this annoying Jewish girl look so fabulous!" Kurt looked like he was going to faint.

She had a few seconds. Time for the surprise.

"Last, but absolutely not least, there is one special person I'd like to thank. I can't tell you his name, because he is a very private man, but a long time ago, he selflessly sacrificed almost everything for me, so that I could be free to achieve my dreams. He also nearly sacrificed everything for his country as well." She held the Tony in front of her and looked directly into the camera. "If you're watching, I just want you to know, this award is for you. I have never forgotten what you did, and what it cost. I can never fully repay you; all I can do is spend the rest of my life doing what I love, because that is all you ever really wanted. Thank you for believing so completely in me." She swallowed very hard. "And one more thing. After the ceremony, I'm coming to find you, because I love you, and we should never, ever, have given up." Then she turned and hurried off the stage with the presenters, to growing applause, a standing ovation, and tabloid frenzy.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning the paparazzi were waiting outside her apartment building when the town car she had ordered pulled up. An informant in the car company had tipped them off that Rachel Berry had ordered a car to take her to La Guardia Airport. The baseball cap and sunglasses on the small woman getting into the car with Tom Foley, who looked greatly displeased for someone who had also won a Tony, fooled no one, and the chase was on.

The couple was hounded throughout the airport with cries of "Ms. Berry! Who is the mystery man?" Phones were whipped out when the flight and its destination—Taos, New Mexico—was discovered. Tom saw her off with a hug and a wave, signed some autographs, and went home without comment.

By the time Tom, Emily, Santana, and Kurt were having a celebratory brunch, Miriam Threadgold, Rachel's look-alike understudy, was headed back from La Guardia to her own apartment to get ready for the night's performance. Rachel Berry was already in Pennsylvania, driving Kurt's old Range Rover, on I-80, headed west.

"And to think," said Santana, shaking her head, "We used to make fun of Berry in high school for making plans on how to handle the paparazzi."

They toasted her safety, and success. And they toasted Finn, wherever he was.

**XXXxxxx**

Rachel finally relaxed outside of Hazleton, PA. Tom called and told her the ruse worked, and wished her and Finn good luck. She knew how crazy the press would be over this: she listened to NPR talking about the buzz over the Tony awards show. To keep her whereabouts secret, she had put some cash on an untraceable, prepaid debit card. At hotels, Rachel planned on using her usual credit card to hold the room, but to pay with the untraceacble one. Nobody but a trusted few knew what car she was driving (she had moved her own car to a different garage for the duration, to make it appear she had taken it). Santana had gone shopping for her at the Orvis store, buying (stylish) outdoor clothing, and picked up some simple camping gear (Timberline Eureka tent, cooking utensils, etc), just in case. Contrary to popular belief, Rachel was actually well-versed in camping. During the summers they were together, Finn had taken her outdoors and taught her the basics, which, in typical Rachel Berry fashion, she obsessed over until she mastered them.

She thought about the show. When she made the decision to find Finn, she approached the producers, and told them what she planned on doing if she won the award. Much to her surprise, Billie and Jim were delighted. They knew ahead of time what this kind of thing could do to for the show's publicity, and brought Miriam in on the plan. Each show would begin with a reference to Rachel's absence, as a quest for love. The producers instinctively knew the fans would respond positively. Miriam was no slouch as Sally, either, and was grateful for the opportunity. Fortunately, a talented third-stringer was available, and began rehearsing in earnest with Tom just in case. As accommodating as all them were, Rachel secretly knew it didn't matter what they said. It was time for her to risk everything for him.

Fortunately, she wasn't going into this completely blind as to Finn's whereabouts. Kurt told her once that, soon after Finn's announcement, his mom got a notice from a VA hospital in Sheridan, Wyoming. Apparently it was sent to his emergency contact address by mistake. So, Rachel had one, and only one, clue for where to start looking. It seemed like a world away.

She thought about staying the night in Elyria, Ohio, but wasn't tired yet, the adrenaline still pumping. Eventually, though, around 10 PM, she had to pull into a rest area. After using the bathroom, she headed back to her car, enjoying being able to stretch her legs. The rest area was located adjacent to a patch of woods; a great horned owl hooted from somewhere in the trees. Rachel knew it was a great horned owl because she and Finn had taken an owl calling class at the local conservation area, so she stood, hands cupped to her mouth, and tried a call, as loud as she could make it: _Hoo-Hoo-Hoo, Hoo, Hoo_. There was a few moments of silence, then, to her delight, the owl called back, only this time much closer. Even after all these years, Rachel still almost grabbed her phone to text Finn about it. She was still crying when she called Kurt, to let him know she was going to catch some z's in the car. He said he'd inform the others that she was safe. Settling in, Rachel became excited again. Maybe soon, she thought, she wouldn't have to cry over him anymore.

Over the next day, Rachel made it through Chicago and headed northwest, into Wisconsin, now on I-90. She spent the night in a motel in La Crosse, WI, and overslept. It was late afternoon when she finally got underway.

In eastern South Dakota, Rachel encountered some heavy thunderstorms at 2AM, flashes of lightning illuminating the surreal landscape of the Badlands, so she pulled into a diner in the town of Mitchell. As she ordered coffee, she noticed strange pictures of a building lining the walls. It looked like the building was covered with-were those ears of corn? She asked the waitress, who told her it was the world famous theatre called the Corn Palace, and yes, every year it was covered with fresh ears of corn (birds had a habit of eating them). Top notch talent had performed there, she said, like Red Skelton! Being a performer, Rachel couldn't resist driving by the building before she left town. It was too early for a fresh layer of corn, so the old theatre looked somewhat grotesque, covered in bird-pecked cobs. She sent some pictures back to Tom and Kurt.

She caught 4 hours of sleep at a rest area northwest of Rapid City, at the western end of South Dakota. This was Black Hills country, which dominated the western horizon. Rachel knew she was getting near the Bighorn range; Sheridan was only 250 miles further. She wondered what other clues were there.

The mountainous terrain was all part of the Rockies complex. Pushing into Wyoming, she gazed in wonder at the scenery, so different from the rolling farmlands where she was born and raised, and so much more rugged than the older, worn-down mountains in the East. Rachel wondered if Finn chose this place because Afghanistan itself was so mountainous.

She found a hotel in Sheridan, showered, then headed right for the VA hospital. It was smaller than she expected, but looked modern, with red stone facing. She approached the woman at the desk.

"Excuse, me," she said, "I'm looking for a veteran who may be a patient here. His name is Finn Christopher Hudson."

The woman looked up the name, and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but we have no record of this patient being currently treated. He may be an outpatient. Are you family?"

She almost found herself saying yes. After all, this was her Finn we were talking about. The cruel reality struck her then. She had no lawful standing with him. All she could say was that he was her fiancée, once.

She looked down in sorrow. "We-we were going to be married," she said, softly. The woman shook her head sympathetically.

"I'm so sorry, I cannot give you any more information." The woman leaned forward and took her hand. "You might try asking those gentlemen over there." She pointed at five men sitting in the lobby. "They hang around here a lot, a kind of veterans social group. Maybe they knew or remember him."

"Thank you," Rachel said, and walked over to the men. Three of them were older, probably Vietnam era, and two were fairly young. All seemed to be fairly fit and healthy, with no obvious signs of wounds or trauma.

"Excuse me, "Rachel asked, "I'm looking for—an old friend of mine. He used to be treated here, perhaps he talked with you. His name is Finn Hudson."

All but one slowly shook their heads. It was the oldest looking veteran who asked, "Tall drink of water, well over six feet?"

She felt a surge of adrenaline/hope.

"Yes! Yes! Six-three, dark hair?"

"Sure, ma'am," he said. "Nice guy, but didn't talk much. I do know he mentioned hanging out at a bar called Red's, down on Madison. But that was a few years ago now."

He almost fell backwards as Rachel hugged him fiercely.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!" She rushed out of the lobby as fast as she could.

**XXXxxxx**

An older man was tending bar. A couple of customers were at a booth. She slipped onto a stool.

"What can I get you?"

"A beer, please. Do you have an IPA on tap?"

The bartender smiled. "We have a great local one, called Black Tooth."

"Then I'll have a pint, " Rachel said.

He drew the pint and put it before her.

"You're new here", the bartender said, "Welcome. I'm Red."

"Rachel Berry," she replied brightly, and took a sip. It wasn't generally known, but she enjoyed good beer, the hoppier and bitterer the better. Finn always loved that about her.

"This is very good," she said, and Red nodded. But it was time to get down to business. "Red, I'm new in town, because I'm looking for somebody, and was told he used to come here. His name is Finn Hudson. Do you know him?"

Red smiled and nodded in recognition. Then he looked at her more carefully.

"I got to know Finn very well. And you…you must be _his_ Rachel."

Her heart raced in her chest with hope.

"He-he talked about me?"

Red laughed. "He tried talking himself out of it, but he couldn't. He loved you."

Please say he's here, she prayed.

"Do you know where I can find him, Red? It's been almost three years since he was discharged, and not even his family knows where he is."

Red shook his head.

"I'm sorry, all I can tell you is where he was about two years ago." He went to a small corkboard behind the bar, and pulled off a postcard. "Finn sent me this."

It was picture of a beautiful lake, ringed by majestic mountains. It said "Waterton Lakes National Park, Alberta." Rachel turned it over and her heart clenched when she saw his familiar, messy handwriting:

_Dear Red,_

_This may be just where I need to be. Even more peace and quiet than Sheridan. _

_Take care, dude_

_Finn _

She kept turning it over and over.

"So he went to Canada?" She looked puzzled.

"It's pretty gorgeous up there," Red said. Then he kindly put a hand on her arm. "Rachel, he experienced something really bad in Afghanistan. He and I bonded because I saw some horrible things in Nam. He couldn't really talk about it with anybody, even me. But it affected him. He hated loud noises, for example, and was wary of crowds, and things like trash bags and untended boxes. But that's typical."

Rachel started crying, at the thought of him in such a state. Red patted her arm again.

"Don't worry, Rachel, " he said gently, "He's ok. He's not broken. Believe me, I've seen broken. But like me when I got back, he had the good sense to realize he had to adjust, and was in the position to take the time to do just that. He worked in a local garage here. The guys say he was very withdrawn at first, but seemed to acclimate quickly. "Integrate," is what he called it. But Sheridan didn't work out fully for him. I hope that helps."

She smiled and thanked him. Back in her hotel, she called Kurt and told him what she knew.

"Thanks Rachel, " he said, and, per their agreement, promised to keep the information to himself.

In her bed, curled up that night, Rachel wondered how different he would be when she finally found him. It never occurred to her to think how different she was, too.

**XXXxxx **

It was 550 miles to Waterton. Rachel left Sheridan very early, 4AM, and arrived there around 1:30PM. She checked into a motel, then drove through the small town, staring in wonder at white mountain sheep in peoples front yards. It wasn't clear how she should start her search.

As she drove by the RCMP station, she had an idea.

"Excuse me," she said to the tall, young female constable at the desk, "I'm trying to locate someone who lives, or maybe has lived here in the past couple of years."

"Is this person missing, ma'am?" the constable asked.

"Oh no, " Rachel replied, "Not in that sense. He's an old friend, and I'm trying to contact him again. His name is Finn Hudson."

At the name, the two other constables in the room turned their heads, and the one at the desk smiled widely, but looked at her very intently. It started to freak Rachel out, but then the woman, still smiling, said,

"You must be Rachel."


	8. Chapter 8

Rachel was shocked into silence. Why did all of the police in the room react to Finn's name? Was he a criminal now? The town drunk? A string of scenarios ran through her mind. But if he was a criminal, why was the female constable smiling? And how did she know her name? What the hell was going on?

"I—I'm sorry," she finally uttered, "Yes, I'm Rachel Berry. Do you know Finn?"

The desk constable—her nameplate read "Feeney"—suddenly looked concerned.

"Forgive me, Ms. Berry, it was rude of me to shock you like that. Please accept my apologies—it's just I was surprised to hear his name." She placed a hand on hers. "We all know Finn—and in a good way," she added hastily, realizing what Rachel must have thought. "He's a wonderful man."

Rachel's eyes narrowed. This Feeney was talking about Finn—and her- in an uncomfortably familiar fashion. She felt a cold rush of fear: had Finn truly moved on, away from her-with this woman? Her heart sank as she realized how pretty the constable was: tall, beautifully fair skin, and those eyes—gray, like the sea during a storm. Nothing like me, she thought, despairing. Her old high school insecurities over her appearance emerged from hibernation. She suddenly pushed them down—hard. She hadn't come all this way to concede _anything_, by God.

"Yes, Constable Feeney," she replied, icily, pulling her hand away, "He _is_ a wonderful man."

Nobody in the room spoke as the temperature dropped. Feeney looked distressed, but in a compassionate way. Finally, she spoke.

"Would you like to go someplace where we could talk? Have coffee perhaps? I promise to tell you anything you want to know. Anything." She sounded sincere.

"I appreciate that, Constable, thanks," Rachel said, despite feeling like she was walking to the gallows.

"Please call me Jane." Jane spoke to one of the others, saying she'd be gone for a while, grabbed her cap, and beckoned Rachel out the door.

"I don't feel very professional right now," Jane confessed, as they walked down the block. Rachel was grateful that she didn't have to hurry along; the much taller Jane deliberately slowed her gait. Still, she felt ridiculously small and insignificant.

"It's all right," Rachel said. "I did catch you off-guard." She stopped for a second and stared at her. "Look, before we go any further, just answer one question. Are you and Finn together?" She held her breath.

Jane had a quiet, faraway look, then smiled as she answered.

"No. Not anymore."

While relieved, Rachel still felt her heart sink a little. Her rational side kept telling her she had no reason to expect Finn to have remained alone all of this time, especially considering her own relationship with Tom. But she had held out a sliver of hope that at least one of them would manage to maintain the innocence, that purity, which had once so defined their love affair. Now they were both just…adults, somehow sullied by life and time. She felt suddenly weary. But maybe, just maybe—she had to think this, just had to-it was the end of any unrealistic expectations, and, perhaps, the beginning of something better. Something less brittle, more durable. She had to hope that was true. The tether had to bring about more than just the end of innocence, and the acceptance of the yoke of adulthood.

"Okay," Rachel said, and they resumed walking, finally arriving at a coffee bar.

They sat at a tiny table in the back, both having ordered simple black coffee. It was incredibly awkward; both sat for a moment before Rachel finally spoke. Her hands were tightly clasped in front of her.

"How is he?"

Jane nodded, liking the simple question.

"He's good, Rachel, as of six weeks ago, when I saw him last."

Rachel pursed her lips in a tight, relieved smile.

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Yes. He's near Jackson Hole, Wyoming."

Jane saw more of Rachel's anxiety and tension ease. She was surprised, however, when Rachel took her hands.

"Thank you," she said, "You have no idea what that means to me. That's all I needed to know."

Jane raised her eyebrows.

"What about what you _want_ to know? "

Rachel thought a moment. She really wanted to know a lot.

"How much time do you have?"

Jane laughed.

"Actually, I should be getting back. But listen—come to my place tonight. I'll cook dinner—you're vegan, right?" Jane stopped. "I know it's a bit awkward, but I did say I would answer any question you have. I even have a guest room, if you're tired of hotels."

Rachel felt tears brimming. Something about Jane, maybe her openness, touched her.

"That would be lovely," she said, "But you don't have to worry about my diet restrictions. I've been eating crappy salads on the road for days. Something solid, even meat, would be fine. I'm not as picky as I once was."

Jane wrote down the directions.

"See you at six?"

"Sure. But may I ask one more question? "

"Of course."

"How long were you together?"

She could see Jane get visibly uncomfortable, then resolute.

"We were together two years."

Even though it felt as if the air had been knocked out of her, Rachel managed a weak smile.

"Okay, thanks. See you at six."

**XXXxxxxxxx **

Rachel wondered if going to Jane's was a good idea. If just learning how long she had been with Finn caused her this much pain, what would more intimate information inflict? Reason eventually won over fear. The more she knew about Finn and his state of mind could only help when she met him again. And just the thought of meeting him being a real possibility did wonders for her mood.

"Hi Rachel, come on in," Jane said, answering the door. She was dressed casually, much like Rachel—red plaid shirt and jeans. Delicious smells filled the house. "I'm making spaghetti with a meatless sauce. Unfortunately, I only have parmesan cheese, non-vegan, sorry."

Rachel smiled.

"This will be fine—it smells wonderful—is that garlic bread, too?"

"Yep. And salad."

They passed through the living room to get to the kitchen. Rachel noticed the stone fireplace. She wondered if they had ever made love in front of it.

"Would you like something to drink?" Jane asked. "Wine, beer perhaps?"

Even though wine would have been more traditional, a cold beer sounded good to her.

"Beer, please," she said, and Jane smiled.

" I have a decent Alberta IPA here," Jane said, "It's called Wild Rose." She poured Rachel a glass and one for herself, then sat at the table.

It was deliciously hoppy and refreshing.

Rachel helped with the dinner, and as they sat down to eat, the conversation started more with her telling Jane what her life had been like. Jane loved Rachel's Tony speech surprise

"I'm sorry, but I don't follow the Tonys," Jane said, "but I can't believe I'm sitting in my kitchen with an actual Tony winner! Makes me feel all fangirly."

Rachel laughed.

"Well, I can't believe I'm sitting across a table from a real-life Mountie!"

Eventually, the discussion moved on to Finn; the pleasant conversation beforehand made talking about him easier. Dinner ended, and the two women cleared the dishes, then moved into the living room with fresh beers.

"How did you meet?" Rachel asked. She figured this would be a fairly innocuous start. Jane smiled at the recollection.

"Finn was filling up his truck when I drove by and noticed he was wearing a _pakul_, a traditional cap worn by men in Afghanistan. I had served there myself, and was just curious." She gave Rachel a shy look. "And, I have to admit, he looked pretty good."

Rachel sighed in agreement. But something Jane said previously prompted another question.

"You served in Afghanistan?"

"Yep. I was in the Military Police before joining the RCMP."

It always startled Rachel when her insecurities emerged. How would Finn be able to relate to her now?

"Did you see combat?"

Jane's face darkened.

"Not much. But it was enough."

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to pry." Rachel felt she may have crossed a line.

"Oh no, no…" Jane was conciliatory. "Don't worry." She sighed. "There was a riot at the prison I was assigned to… one of the Afghan officers at the prison was a Taliban plant, and secretly supplied the inmates with weapons. They jumped us one morning before inspection. I was dragging a wounded friend of mine away from the fighting when one of the prisoners shot me. In the back."

Rachel's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God! What about your friend?"

She saw Jane's eyes grow moist. "He didn't make it."

"I'm sorry. Are you ok..now?"

Jane smiled.

"Yes, my husband at the time helped me through it. We were MP's and joined the Mounties together." Jane stopped, realizing Rachel didn't know. "We were divorced before I met Finn."

Rachel nodded. It was strange, talking to Finn's former lover like this, but not as bad as she had imagined. She did wonder what Finn would think, talking to Tom. Maybe it wouldn't be terrible. After all, this Jane seemed nice enough.

"Jane, did you help Finn through his transition?"

"We helped each other. His nightmares were fairly regular at first, while mine were just occasional."

Jane could see tears in Rachel's eyes, as she thought about him having nightmares.

"Listen, Rachel, I can tell you how to handle them, if he has one. They were fairly infrequent when he left. The technique is very intimate, but effective."

Jane went on to explain her technique, and was gratified to see Rachel, at one point, grin and actually laugh. When she was done she got up and fetched fresh beers.

When she got back, Rachel was biting her lip.

"Can you tell me what happened to him in Afghanistan, Jane? I understand if you can't, but I feel like I have to have some idea, to try and relate to him in some way."

Jane shook her head slowly. "I can't recreate it for you—only Finn can. But I can give you a general picture."

"Anytthing would help. Thank you." Rachel took a sip, steeling herself for this.

"Bad intelligence sent Finn's unit into a mountain village without support. They were ambushed by a larger number of Taliban, and forced to split up, retreating into two houses. Finn was with his sergeant and another private. For about an hour, the Taliban tried to assault Finn's house, and they managed to beat off the attacks. But the other two were badly wounded, leaving Finn alone, almost without ammunition, to try and hold the enemy off. For some reason, air support wasn't available, and the group in the other house was pinned down. It seemed hopeless. "

Rachel looked horrified, her hand to her mouth. Jane patted her arm.

"Do you want me to continue?" Rachel nodded silently.

"What Finn's unit and the Taliban didn't know was, NATO special forces were operating in the area. Before the enemy could overwhelm Finn's position, three British soldiers—SAS, Special Air Service—entered the house from the back. They had observed the fighting, and already had wiped out an isolated Taliban group before joining Finn. They only gave him their first names: Eddie, a sergeant, and privates Trevor and Bill. All carried huge backpacks with plenty of ammunition. Trevor even had a light machine gun. Eddie told Finn they would cover him so he could carry the wounded back to the other group.

The plan was to draw out as many Taliban in the assault as possible. They didn't know the SAS was there, they thought it was just Finn, almost out of ammo. Eddie planned on catching them in the open and taking advantage of his firepower to take a lot of them out while Finn took one wounded man back. Then they'd hold off the rest until Finn came back for his sergeant.

When the attack started, the SAS troopers opened up, and Finn slung his groaning buddy on his back, and carried him out of the house and down the street about 50 meters to the other house. The two of them still were under sporadic fire all the way there, but made it safely. Finn then went back with another volunteer to get the sergeant. The volunteer was wounded on the way, but was able to make it back on his own.

By the time Finn arrived for his sergeant, Bill was dead and Trevor was seriously wounded. Eddie ordered him to get his sergeant back, and said he'd bring Trevor. Finn was carrying the unconscious sergeant, under worse fire this time, and looked back. Eddie was behind him, Trevor slung over his shoulder, when the firing got worse. Eddie stopped, motioning him to continue, and, still carrying his buddy, laid covering fire with his weapon so that Finn could make it. Finn saw him and Trevor get cut down just as he and his sergeant reached safety."

Jane stopped. Rachel was too stunned to speak.

Jane placed her hand on Rachel's arm again.

"I know it sounds awful, and is far worse than what I described. I just want you to know that Finn's reactions have been perfectly normal. He doesn't suffer from PTSD. It just takes a while to adjust. And he has made a lot of progress. However, he still feels survivor's guilt over Eddie, Trevor and Bill."

She was surprised when Rachel leaned and hugged her.

"Thank you for taking care of him," she said, "I don't know what I could have done for something like this."

"It was my honor," Jane replied, with a tinge of sadness.

"Did you love him?"

Jane sipped. To her credit, in Rachel's eyes, she didn't hesitate.

"Yes. I still do. But not in the way I still love my husband, or the way you love him."

"You still love your husband?" Rachel asked, surprised. Jane nodded.

"The divorce was a mistake, just as Finn now feels breaking up with you was a mistake." Jane then went on to make one thing perfectly clear: "But my two years with Finn was no mistake."

"I know," Rachel said, softly, then got up to get another beer. "Want one?" she asked with a smile. She was starting to get a little tipsy.

"Sure," Jane replied.

"So…are you going to get back together with your husband.? " Jane blushed.

"We've been talking again, " she said, "And we're planning a camping vacation together in Wood Buffalo National Park, in Northern Alberta and the Northwest Territories. We're Mounties, after all. And Brian says he might be ready to try the big city, as he calls this, again." Rachel giggled.

"I wonder what he'd think of New York." Jane rolled her eyes.

"Maybe I can talk him into coming to one of your shows."

"That would be wonderful. You have a standing invitation."

They talked about Finn's songwriting, which delighted Rachel no end. "They're all about you, in one way or another," Jane said.

"There's something else," she added. "I turned him on to Bob Dylan, and he became a hardcore fan. There was a playlist on his iPod that I think would be very interesting for you to hear. "I'll go burn a CD for you."

Rachel sat back, feeling much better, but still anxious about meeting Finn again. She felt out of her depth in dealing with his experiences. But she had come this far. They would find a way to make it. There really was no choice.

Jane came back and handed her the CD, neatly labeled "Finn's Dylan." Then she put her hands on her hips.

"Ms Berry, I'm afraid I can't let you drive back to the motel, in your inebriated state. As an officer of the law, I have to insist you stay the night."

"Yes, Constable, whatever you say," Rachel giggled.

Jane showed her the guest room, handed her some fresh towels, and then produced a Rush t-shirt.

"He left this behind, Rachel," she said. "I thought you might want to sleep in it."

Her kindness was overwhelming. Rachel choked out thanks.

Later, curled up in bed, wrapped in Finn's shirt, she almost felt at peace. The shirt didn't smell like him, just freshly laundered, but it was enough to be enveloped in something that was his again.

She couldn't wait for morning.

**A/N: **_Many__thanks to __**henriettaline **__for our discussions about decent beer and things Canadian.__One would do well to read her fics_.


	9. Chapter 9

Rachel got a late start. It was Jane's day off, and the two of them talked more about Finn and Brian over breakfast. She didn't leave Waterton until 10 AM, and, once entering the United States, took US Route 287 south, towards Helena, Montana. The weather worsened the closer to Helena she got—there were very heavy thunderstorms, which slowed her progress. To make matters worse, a chunk of rock the size of her fist flew off a truck she was passing and damaged her windshield wiper and windshield. She limped into Helena at 3PM, and found it would take the rest of the afternoon to get the repairs done.

She wanted to scream in frustration. Resting in the service department waiting area proved impossible, so she spent some time in an internet café nearby, venting to Tom and Kurt. Even though she hadn't taken any naps, when the car was ready at 6PM, she decided to push through as far as she could. Only 5 hours to go, anyway. Or so she thought. A very bad accident due to the weather delayed her even further. Finally, in resignation, she pulled off the road where some trucks had gathered, near the Montana/Idaho border at 10 PM, in pouring rain, and decided to get a couple of hours sleep.

She woke up one-and-one-half hours later. Not only did she feel refreshed, the weather had now cleared, and the entire landscape was bathed in the pale light of a beautiful gibbous moon.

Tom had taken her once to a Leonard Cohen concert. At one point Cohen recited a passage from his novel _Beautiful Losers_, and when he spoke the line, "God is alive. Magic is afoot," Rachel felt chills. It was so easy to feel that here as well, high up among these silent, brooding peaks, under the ghostly, crystalline light. It was otherworldly, ripe with the sense that anything could happen.

Rachel crossed the border at midnight, and noticed a trailer parked off the road, with bright lights and a sign that said "Free Coffee for Travelers". Just what the doctor ordered, she thought. There was an opening in the side of the trailer, with a counter. An older man, in his 60's, smiled at her. A gasoline-powered generator whined in the background.

"Good evening, young lady," he said. Her acting class experience told her he had an English accent, East London, probably Cockney. He must have lived here for some time, because it had softened somewhat, making it difficult to actually identify.

"Good evening! " Rachel beamed. "I love your idea for travelers! I'd like one coffee, please, black."

"Thank you, Miss, "the man said, and poured the coffee from what looked like a home coffee maker. "Could I interest you in one of my wife's pastries for a small donation? We use the donations to fund the coffee." It was difficult for Rachel, being so short, to see, so the man presented a tray of what looked like delicious fruit Danish.

"Of course, Mr…"

"Just call me Fred, " he said. He was slight looking, wiry, with gray hair and brown eyes.

"I'm Rachel, " she said selecting an apricot Danish that looked particularly delectable. She placed a twenty-dollar bill in the jar labeled "donations".

"That's very generous of you, Rachel," Fred said, "That will keep a lot of travelers awake!" Then Rachel noticed him studying her.

"Pardon me for saying so, but you look very familiar."

Rachel beamed.

"Well, I am a Broadway actress," she told him, and she saw a flash of recognition on Fred's face.

"You were on the Tony awards last week on the telly!" She nodded, still smiling.

Fred looked over his shoulder.

"Hey Phyl, come up front! We have a celebrity! "

A plump woman, with fair skin, dark hair, and kind, twinkling blue eyes appeared.

"Oh my!" she gushed. "You're Rachel Berry! We saw you on the telly last week!" Her accent was more conventionally English.

"This is my wife, Phyllis" Fred said.

"I'm so pleased to meet you," Rachel said, and took a bite of her Danish. "This is delicious! "

It suddenly occurred to her that Fred and Phyllis were the first people to recognize her as a Tony award winner. She had always imagined being mobbed by fans, and asked for autographs, and in a more limited sense, this had come true, with the show and the crowds waiting outside. But to be recognized here, more than halfway across the country, in such a remote place, by two generous people, _that _was so much cooler.

Phyllis smiled shyly.

"Thank you," she said. Then she leaned over the counter. "Are you still looking for that special man?"

"I think I've found him," Rachel said, excitedly. "I'll probably be seeing him tomorrow!"

The couple smiled at her.

"So glad to hear that", Fred said, arm around Phyllis, "There is nothing like finding the right person."

They had been to New York only once, when they emigrated, back in the 1970's. Rachel took their names and addresses down, and gave them her number.

"When you are in New York again, please let me know, and I'll arrange for tickets to any show I'm in. You do such marvelous work, here! "

They beamed back at her. "Go find that young man," Phyllis ordered.

She drove on feeling wonderful. "Thank you, Finn", she said out loud, "for that moment." Magic was, indeed, afoot.

The road hugged the mountains that formed the western border of Yellowstone National Park, and as she continued to drive south, Rachel remembered to play Finn's Dylan CD. The moon had yet to set, its light still falling on those mountains, and the sounds of the road created a hypnotic setting for the music itself. Gradually, so subtly that she barely noticed, the tether began to filter the lyrics of the songs for her, weaving the snippets from different songs into a single tapestry as meaningful as the one at Bayeux.

There was Joan Baez's crystalline, impossibly pure voice:

_My love she speaks like silence_

_Without ideals or violence_

_She doesn't have to say she's faithful_

_Yet she's true, like ice, like fire_

Then Rod Stewart, from one of Dylan's prettiest love songs:

_Ah but only if my own true love is waitin' _

_Yes and if I could hear her heart softly poundin' _

_Only if she were lying by me _

_Would I rest in my bed once again_

Dylan himself, from what Jane called Finn's favorite song of his:

_Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?_

_We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it_

_And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it_

_Lights flicker from the opposite loft_

_In this room the heat pipes just cough_

_The country music station plays soft_

_But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off_

_Just Louise and her lover so entwined_

_And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind_

And another verse, that particularly resonated to her, from that awful, searing moment on the train platform:

_Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously_

_He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously_

_And when bringing her name up_

_He speaks of a farewell kiss to me_

She felt him feeling the tether like she did, chafing at the heart, ruining sleep:

_How can I explain?_

_Oh, it's so hard to get on_

_And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn_

And this, a song about a woman about to embark on a voyage, who asks her lover what gift he would like her to send him from her destination, to which he replies:

_No, there's nothin' you can send me, my own true love_

_There's nothin' I wish to be ownin'_

_Just carry yourself back to me unspoiled_

_From across that lonesome ocean._

Rachel wept. Oh, how she had felt that way, exactly, for so long, hoping against hope that her Finn, the core of him that she loved, would come back to her intact.

And, finally, a man trying to talk himself out of love:

_Most of the time my head is on straight_

_Most of the time I'm strong enough not to hate_

_I don't build up illusion 'til it makes me sick_

_I ain't afraid of confusion no matter how thick_

_I can smile in the face of mankind_

_Don't even remember what her lips felt like on mine_

_Most of the time. _

There was another song, but the tether gave her no clue about it that night. She let the CD end as the road curved east, and she reached the summit of Teton Pass.

Rachel stopped the car and, got out, stretching her legs. Below her, in the peaceful moonlight, lay the expanse of Jackson Hole Valley. She prayed he was asleep down there, free of dreams.

**A/N: A transitional chapter. **

**Many thanks to my parents, Phyllis and Fred, for making an appearance. You may no longer be of this world, but you remain well-loved. **

**The lyrics are from the following songs by Bob Dylan, respectively: **

**Love Minus Zero/No Limit**

**Tomorrow Is Such A Long Time **

**Visions of Johanna**

**Boots of Spanish Leather**

**Most of The Time**


	10. Chapter 10

Rachel found a motel in Jackson Hole and checked in at 4AM. Jane had given her Finn's address, but she was reluctant to just barge in on him. He probably had a job, so she decided to wait until the evening to try and see him. After all this time, longing for the moment, it was as if she had a last minute failure of nerve. Besides, she was exhausted. Rachel climbed into bed, wearing Finn's shirt, and texted Kurt and Tom to say she finally made it to Jackson Hole.

Then she slept until noon. She had debated with herself for quite a while what to wear. Jane had told her, however, that Finn lived outside of town, renting a rustic cabin from the family of an Army buddy. So, when it came time to actually decide, she threw out all the options she had considered. She did, however, stick to her old nightly shower routine from home. Then she chose a simple white sports bra with matching panties, a plaid flannel shirt, and jeans, with suede desert boots. However, in classic Rachel Berry fashion, she went and had a manicure and pedicure, and had her hair styled into a simple but elegant French braid.

It was almost 6PM. She stood in her bathroom, gazing in the mirror. Then laughed. She felt comfortable. And beautiful. And confident. She took a picture of herself and emailed it to Kurt and Tom.

Tom replied:

_You look beautiful. Good luck_.

Kurt, however, was more playful:

_Thank God you have inner beauty_. _(Kidding). He will think you look gorgeous, you know that. I love you, Rachel Berry. _

The sun was just above the Tetons on this perfect late-spring evening, and the mountains stood, like grayish-blue, craggy teeth etched against a flawless azure sky. At their feet, lost in shadow, Jackson Lake rested, dark and still. Rachel turned off the highway onto a gravel road that ran for a few hundred yards through pine woods, stopping at a closed, locked gate.

Rachel got out, and stood by the gate, straining to see the cabin. But the driveway curved to the right, into some trees, blocking the view. Her heart pounded. She started to walk on the grass along the driveway, and as it curved around, emerged from the trees and began a gentle slope down to the cabin itself. It was a low, dark, wooden structure with a big porch,, looking out on a meadow which led down to the lake itself. A Ford Explorer was parked in the back. She could see some lights on inside.

As she got closer, Rachel began wondering what she would say when he opened the door. Fortunately, she heard a screen door slam and movement on the porch. The driveway led away from the front of the cabin, so she began traversing the grass towards the porch, and as a corner of it came into view, she saw him, sitting on the steps with a beer and a guitar. His hair was long and shaggy, and he had this exotic (at least to her), short, dark beard. He was dressed much like her. She stopped dead and listened as he began a song in his warm voice. Amazingly, she recognized it as one of the songs on the CD, one that hadn't particularly stood out then, but now could only have been chosen by the tether for this moment:

_Early one morning the sun was shining_

_I was laying in bed_

_Wond'ring if she'd changed at all_

_If her hair was still red_

_Her folks they said our lives together_

_Sure was gonna be rough_

_They never did like Mama's homemade dress_

_Papa's bankbook wasn't big enough_

_And I was standing on the side of the road_

_Rain falling on my shoes_

_Heading out for the East Coast_

_Lord knows I've paid some dues getting through_

_Tangled up in blue._

Lord knows, but you have, she thought, letting him begin the second verse:

_She was married when we first met_

_Soon to be divorced_

_I helped her out of a jam I guess_

_But I used a little too much force_

_We drove that car as far as we could_

_Abandoned it out West_

_Split up on a dark sad night_

_Both agreeing it was best_

_She turned around to look at me_

_As I was walking away_

_I heard her say over my shoulder_

At that moment, Rachel stepped out into view, and joined him in singing the next line:

_"We'll meet again someday, on the avenue"._

Many years later, in her autobiography _Faithfully_, Rachel wrote about that moment:

_Finn stopped playing and looked up. _

"_Hi beautiful," he said, with that old smile. It had been seven years since we had last seen each other, yet he acted as if I had been away only a few seconds, as if I had just gone to fetch a fresh beer from the kitchen. My mouth was too dry to reply, so I simply walked up the steps and sat down next to him. We then both leaned into each other, and remained like that, not speaking, as the sun set behind the Tetons. The Universe gently righted itself; the years slipped away, as if they never existed. I took a sip of his beer. _

"_Hi handsome," I replied._

"I've been thinking about you lately," he said, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She rested her head on his.

"Funny, me too." Her hand moved to his thigh.

All these things, the sitting together, the touching, were so familiar, as if they had found an old, beloved pair of slippers, and put them on after many years. It felt warm and comfortable, releasing memory like incense.

"I missed you," she whispered. "I missed you for so long."

His arm tightened around her. Suddenly, she straightened up.

"Come with me," she said, "I have something to show you."

"Okay."

Rachel led Finn back up the driveway to the gate, holding his hand the entire time. When they got to the car, he laughed.

"Is this Kurt's old car?"

She nodded, opened the back, and rummaged a bit. Then she turned and handed him a large, gift-wrapped box. Finn took it, commenting on its heft.

"Finn, open it," Rachel ordered.

He removed the wrapping, and opened the lid. His eyes grew wide, and she could see tears brimming in them.

"Is this what I think it is?" he asked. She nodded.

"Take it out."

He pulled her Tony award out of the box, gazing at her name inscribed on it. The look of pride he gave her at that moment remained with her for the rest of her life.

"You did it. You did it! I knew you could!"

"I never forgot what you did for me," Rachel said softly, "I couldn't have done it but for you. So I want you to have this. It's yours. "

She paused , tears brimming in her eyes too, then choked out,

"_I'm _yours."

It was time.

He bent down, cradling her face in his hands and kissed her in the fragrant, sunset air. It was tender at first, but, the kiss, having waited for seven years, finally lost its patience. He slammed down the car's rear door, picked her up without breaking contact with her lips, and carried her, through the trees and down the slope, towards the cabin.

**A/N: lyrics are from "Tangled Up in Blue", by Bob Dylan. **


	11. Chapter 11

They lay quietly together afterwards, peacefully entwined. It had been sweet, yes, how could it not? But it was also different; they hadn't fallen back into their old patterns. Instead, each brought their other experiences to the table and the result was exciting and new.

Contrary to popular belief, their sexual experience with each other had been relatively limited. The Glee Club, of course, assumed that Rachel Berry Unleashed was some kind of formidable, insatiable, sexual force, sweeping everything before it; she was like that with everything else in her life, after all. Santana used to remark how the two of them acted like cats in heat. True, they may have been very affectionate with each other in public, but, in reality, any sex in which they did engage had to be scheduled around parental absences and high school in general, over a period of only around seven months.

There still had been an innocence to them as well, Rachel thought, curled up, with Finn spooned behind her. Their inexperience, plus the pressure cooker that had been their lives in high school, heightened the intensity of everything. It seemed so different now: calmer, quiet. More private. She felt his heart beating, his breathing, one hand cupping her breast, but this time there was nothing she had to do next, no item on a list to check off, nobody's schedule or expectations to accommodate. For the first time in her life, Rachel had Finn completely to herself. It felt like the honeymoon they never had. It was the first gift of their reunion.

There _was_ something, however, that she had to talk about.

"Finn?" She wanted to make sure he was awake.

"Yes?"

"I met Jane."

"I figured as much," Finn said. He sounded calm, relaxed, not tense at all.

"I liked her."

"I'm glad, " he said, and pulled her closer. "She is a very cool person."

Rachel rolled over to face him.

"She told me how she helped you handle your nightmares."

He looked her directly. No awkwardness, nor any trying to second-guess what she was thinking. Another gift of their reunion.

"Rachel, I will tell you anything you need to know."

"Do you think I can help you if you have a nightmare? I was wondering if I was physically strong enough to stop the thrashing." She looked truly worried.

He smiled, reached out, and gently touched her cheek.

"I've felt enough patented Rachel Berry hugs to know you have nothing to worry about. A five-ten Mountie hasn't got anything on them."

She adored him.

"Anything else you need to know?" He raised his eyebrows in encouragement.

She shook her head, smiling.

"No, I'm good." And she was. "Is there anything you need to know?"

Feigned innocence.

"Nope. Nothing."

He received a very suspicious look. Finn chuckled.

"Okay, okay. Look, while I was still in the army, Kurt sent me this panicked email telling me all about Tom. We can talk about him, at some point, if you like. Assuming he isn't some Jesse St Jackass," Rachel giggled, "then he's probably an okay guy. Maybe I'll meet him someday, whatever." He stroked her face. "But the fact is you're here. With me. As we were meant to be. I'm good with that."

"Me too, baby" Rachel said, and kissed him.

The cabin was quiet, that holy, Zen-like quiet punctuated only by the sounds of two hearts beating, breathing, and blood rushing in their ears. They both knew that tomorrow would be a time for different questions and some decisions, but for now they were content to just accept the truth, that they had, against all odds, found their way back to each other.

"Finn?"

"Yes?"

"It's only eight o'clock. I'm hungry."

Finn started laughing.

"Tell you what. I know a great Chinese takeout place. Come with me. We'll take Kurt's car, and then we can bring it down close to the cabin on the way back."

Rachel bounced out of bed, checked that her braid was still (somewhat) intact, and got dressed. They walked hand-in-hand back up the slope, and Finn drove to the restaurant. Along the way, Rachel played a YouTube video of her acceptance speech on her phone. When they pulled into the parking lot, he almost crushed her with a hug and kissed her breathless.

"I love you, too, baby" he murmured in her ear.

As they waited for their order, Rachel felt a tap on her shoulder. An older woman who had been waiting with them was standing there, looking very nervous.

"Excuse me, are you Rachel Berry, the actress?" she asked.

Rachel smiled.

"Yes, I am, "Very pleased to meet you," she said, and shook the woman's hand. "Have you seen my show?"

"Oh no, not yet," the woman said, "But my husband and I would love to if we get to New York. We did see you on the Tony Awards show." She looked meaningfully at Finn.

Rachel pulled up a list on her iPhone.

"Could I get your names? I maintain a list of people for tickets—if you are in New York, mention my name and tell them who you are, and you'll be guaranteed some good seats, as my guests."

Her eyes grew wide.

"Murphy. John and Mary Murphy. Thank you so much!" As Rachel entered the information on her phone, Mary grew bolder.

"Pardon me for asking, but is this young man the one you left to find? "

Rachel looked at Finn, wanting to make sure he was okay with it. He nodded.

"Mary, this is Finn Hudson, the love of my life. You can quote me."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am." Finn smiled, shaking her hand.

Rachel autographed a takeout menu for Mary and Finn took a picture of the two women. Mary was ecstatic.

An idea occurred to her.

"Mary, could you please take a picture of Finn and me with my phone?" Finn bent down so that his head was next to Rachel's and Mary snapped the picture of the two of them, grinning. After Mary left, Rachel looked at Finn.

"Would you mind if I send our picture to Tom and Kurt? Tom will send it on to our producers, to give them an idea how I'm doing."

"And how _are_ you doing?" Finn asked. Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Perfectly," she replied.

"Then send the picture."

They sat at his pine dining table and devoured the food. Finn chuckled at Rachel's beer burps, something that she only ever let him see. She never drank beer with Tom; he despised it.

"I'd forgotten how damned cute you are when you do that," he said, and Rachel winked mischievously at him.

She wanted her feelings at that moment frozen forever. The scene was as she had always imagined for them, sitting alone together, enjoying a meal at their table and sharing intimate banter. Only, in the past, they had always been married in those scenarios. This time, however, it didn't matter to her in the least. What counted more was the peacefulness, the rightness of it. She had shared dinners similar to this with Tom, but had never felt that sense of _rightness_.

That sense of _rightness_ enabled her to ask a question.

"Finn, why didn't you try to contact me after you and Jane broke up?" It was just a question, without any anger or hurt behind it. Just simple curiosity. She could see he appreciated that; he didn't look uncomfortable at all.

"I didn't think I was ready," he replied immediately. Then he smiled at her. "I wanted to be whole for you."

"You don't feel whole?" She went to the fridge and grabbed two more beers, and led him outside to the porch, sitting on the steps. The cool evening air felt wonderful. "Tell me," she said.

He struggled to explain.

"The nightmares and the weird paranoia are pretty much gone," he said, "But yesterday the people that I rent this cabin from said they wanted to give it to me. They say I saved their son."

"One of the wounded soldiers you carried to safety was their son?"

"Yeah."

"Finn, it's very generous, of them, but I can see how they are grateful to you, and wanted to show it."

She felt him stiffen.

"It's all wrong," he said. "The Silver Star, them calling me a hero over this. I don't feel like one. I was just doing my job." He stopped. Crickets called. "The only heroes, as far as I'm concerned, are those three guys lying in their graves right now. I owe everything to them. So does everyone else."

Rachel said nothing, letting him continue with his thoughts.

"I won't feel right until I repay them in some way. Maybe write a song for them. That's what I've been trying to do since Jane and I split up." He looked truly sorrowful. "But nothing's coming."

Rachel nodded, still silent. Finally, Finn looked at her.

"What do you think?"

At first she was afraid to speak, to weigh in on something about which she knew almost nothing. She chose, instead, to go with her heart.

"Finn, they gave their lives so that you and the others could live. I never knew them, but they will always have a special place in my heart for making it possible for you to return to me. But you, you've been given the chance to live your life well, something they now will never get the chance to experience. You have the chance to be a decent man; to have babies with me; to grow old, surrounded by your family and friends. Don't you think that would be the best way—the only-way—to properly repay them? "

She stopped, wondering if she had said too much, presumed too much. Insects fluttered around the porchlight; those that had yet to find their mates called to each other out there, in the soft darkness. Finn was silent. Rachel could see him struggling over what she had said. Finally, he seemed to visibly relax. Then he spoke.

"You've always been a guiding light for me. I could always depend on you to tell me what you think, and I could always trust your kind heart. But it just seems too easy, to live a good life. A life with you. It would be like Christmas every day."

Rachel cradled his face in her hands.

"After all you've been through already, I'd say you deserve at least that."

Then it happened. The last barrier he had erected, preventing him from accepting that he deserved to survive and be happy, fell away, like an earthen dam, worn away by the power of love. Finn started to sob on the steps, grateful for the gift Eddie, Trevor and Bill had given him, and to the small woman with the huge heart next to him for helping him accept it.

Rachel put her arm around him, as he slowly, finally, became whole.

They ended up much the way they had begun, sitting on the steps, leaning close. A coyote, who had paused to watch them from the safety of the woods, went on its way, satisfied that everything was as it should be.


	12. Chapter 12

Finn knew things had changed when he woke up early, as he usually did now, and found Rachel still lightly snoring beside him. Before, she had always been the early riser. He knew why, of course; Rachel's life in high school had been an insanely rigorous list of things to do, from the time she arose to the time she collapsed into bed. Exercise, regular high school classes, extracurricular activities (including Glee), practice, homework, evening shower routine—he remembered wondering if she ever had time to eat. All of it was geared towards one goal: becoming a star. However, she never seemed to understand why he felt like he was getting in the way of her dreams, sometimes simply by being there.

He said as much as they drove to Breadstix for dinner on a school night (the restaurant had his favorite, spaghetti and meatballs, on their Wednesday special). She gave him an enigmatic smile.

"Jell-O," she said.

"Huh?"

She didn't answer until they pulled into the parking lot. Then she slid over and kissed him.

"Jell-O, Finn. There's always room for you."

She said there was always room for him because he kept her grounded, kept her human.

He imagined her life now would demand a different sleeping schedule, what with performing at night, and all. Nevertheless, he planned on ribbing her about it when she woke up.

Outside, it was still dark, with a snappy chill. He leaned over and kissed her forehead before sliding carefully out of bed and slipping on his warm flannel robe and fur-lined moccasin slippers—practical Canadian gifts from Jane. In the kitchen he carefully ground coffee, sticking the electric grinder inside his robe so as not to wake her with its high-pitched whine, then prepared a strong black brew and stepped out on the dark porch.

There was a delicate grey in the eastern sky, but everything else was still dark. Finn settled into an Adirondack chair on the porch. The air was filled with the smell of pine, and that elusive, indefinable, living scent from the lake. The Tetons blotted out the stars in the still-dark west.

He'd call in to the garage where he worked, and ask for a day off. Bob wouldn't mind; business was slow this week. As much as he was ecstatic about the reunion, he and Rachel now had to discuss what came next. In reality, the decision was practically a no-brainer, because there were two absolutes: Rachel had to get back to New York, and he couldn't live apart from her anymore. Sipping his coffee, Finn pondered the only possible problem with that: he wasn't sure if he could handle living in a big city. The fact was, he had come to love the West, and its quiet, mountainous landscapes.

Bob was an early riser like him, and a Gulf War vet, so he placed the call.

"I'm going to be losing you, aren't I?" Bob asked.

"I think so, man," Finn replied.

"Are you happy?"

"She makes me happy."

"Then take several days. Seven years is a long time to catch up."

"I love you, man".

Finn went in for a refill, checked on Rachel, who had sprawled out, taking over his space, just as he remembered her doing the one night they did manage to spend entirely together, at her house. He kissed her again, then went back outside, this time sitting on the steps. It was lighter now; a young rabbit nibbled at some flowers in the meadow, and a hawk was sitting in one of the trees, scanning for its breakfast. It never noticed the rabbit, and eventually took off towards the lake.

He was pondering what to do about the cabin offer when Rachel appeared, earlier than he expected, but welcome nonetheless in her blue robe and UGGS slippers, and with a cup of coffee. She joined him on the step and gave him a sleepy kiss.

"This seems to be our place," she commented, and took a sip. "Damn, Hudson, but you make a fine cup of coffee!" she exclaimed, smacking her lips.

"I was worried about not having soy milk."

She patted his shoulder.

"Been drinking it black for years, baby."

They enjoyed each other's company in silence for a few minutes. Then Finn spoke.

"When do you have to be back in New York?"

"Who says I have to go back?"

He looked at her. She laughed, then looked serious.

"You know I'd stay here forever with you, if you asked," she said.

He nodded.

"And you know I'd never ask that."

She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Does that mean you'll come with me, to New York? "

He felt like he was stepping out into space.

"I can't be apart from you anymore," he said. He also knew what Rachel was thinking.

"Do you think you can live there, Finn? Not just with my crap, the paparazzi and all. I mean living in a huge city." She looked down, twiddling with the belt of her robe.

Finn came to a decision.

"I was thinking about accepting that offer for this cabin. Would you be okay with me coming out here occasionally if it gets too much? "

She stared at him.

"Would you mind if I came with you when you do?" She grinned wickedly. "Might do us both good."

"I'd love that," he said, and meant it. "I've also thought about going to school. GI Bill and all. I need to learn more about music for my songwriting."

Rachel hugged him fiercely. He felt the warmth of her love envelop him, like a buffalo robe.

"I knew, from the very day I met you, that you had the talent for this. I just knew it. And to hear you actually acknowledge it yourself makes me happier than you will ever know." She literally bounced on the steps in excitement.

"You know I live with Tom and his girlfriend, Emily," she continued, "But there's room for you as well. Tom could even help with your songwriting. He's brilliant!" Then her voice softened. "We could even look for our own little shoebox apartment. I don't care. As long as it's you and me, like we used to talk about."

He remembered the excitement they had shared, talking about their life together. There were times, late at night, in the Afghanistan cold, when he questioned his decision to put her on that train, when he wondered about marrying her and wishing for the romance of them struggling together against the world in that little shoebox apartment. Could that have been worse than what actually happened? His hip ached, almost as if to remind him. He rubbed it absently, then felt her hand on his.

"Kurt said you had been hurt over there. Jane didn't mention that—she left it for you to tell. You don't have to tell me, but are you okay now?"

He was fine with telling her.

"When I was carrying Sergeant Benson, a rocket-propelled grenade whooshed by me, hitting a building. Chunks, some the size of several bricks, flew off and one smacked me in the hip, tearing up some ligaments. The funny thing was, I didn't even feel it at the time. The docs said it was my adrenaline pumping. It did hurt like a motherfucker when I calmed down, though."

"Show me," Rachel ordered. Finn opened his robe and pulled his pajama bottoms off his hip. There were scars that weren't visible the night before. She lowered her head, kissing each one, then laid her head against them. "I prayed for you every night," she whispered.

"I'm sorry I put you through that," he said, kissing her hair. "I'm sorry I gave up on us. I should have known that was impossible for you and me."

They sat together for a few more minutes. The hawk returned to its tree, but by this time the rabbit had moved to cover. The Tetons now caught the full pink glory of the sunrise, reflected perfectly in the lake.

"We do need to stop in Lima on the way back," Finn remarked, sipping moré coffee., "I need to spend time with Mom.".

"But not before spending three of four more days here," Rachel replied, squeezing his thigh.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: And now, just cuz, a little fluff relief**.

Finn called his mother later that morning. At first he was anxious, wondering if she would even be willing to talk to him. Rachel put him straight on that score.

"Finn, your mother loves you. She also has to know that finding out about your father the way you did affected you deeply. And it's not like you cut communication off completely. Call her."

She sat next to him at the table as he dialed.

"Hello?" Carole wouldn't have recognized the number.

"Hi, Mom, it's me." He hoped, he prayed she would talk to him.

"Finn? Oh my God! " It sounded like she dropped the phone, and then he heard her say "It's Finn!" to someone, probably Burt. "Finn! Honey, are you all right?"

"Yes, Mom, I'm fine." There was silence on the phone—possibly crying, he wasn't sure.

"Baby, where are you? "

"I'm in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Rachel is here with me."

"Rachel? Oh my God! She found you!"

"Yeah, she arrived yesterday." He paused, emotion filling his voice, "Mom? I think I'm ready to come home. I-I'm sorry I stayed away for so long. I wanted to make sure I was whole before I did. I didn't want my homecoming to be like dad's for you. Please forgive me." Rachel squeezed his hand. There was a long silence. Then Carole spoke.

"Finn, I'm sorry too, for keeping all of that information from you for so long. To be honest, your being away has been torture for me, but at least I knew you were safe. Now I just want to see my son again."

"I need to see you, too," Finn said, and Rachel threw her fist in the air and mouthed "YES!"

He told her they would be staying in Jackson Hole for a few more days, then heading to Lima, but that they would ultimately be traveling to New York together.

"Just like you always planned," Carole said, wistfully.

"Yeah Mom. I think everything is finally right for us." He leaned over and kissed her.

She asked him if it was okay to plan a party, and he said she could do anything she liked, he had been in control of the situation far too long.

"I love you, son. And I'm so proud of you."

"I love you too, Mom." Before he hung up, Carole asked if he could put Rachel on the line.

"Oh Carole, it is so wonderful to hear your voice after all these years," Rachel said, truthfully. Carole had truly become a mother-figure to her.

"I just wanted to say congratulations on your award, honey," Carole said, "And tell you that I cried over your speech. Thank you for finding him. I'm sure you played a part in convincing him to come home."

"Only a small part, honestly. We can't wait to see you all again."

She hung up, then hugged him.

"We need to celebrate!" Rachel hooted.

"Sure,", said Finn, "But I need to do something first. Uh, alone."

Rachel smiled curiously.

"What?"

"That's a secret," Finn said. "Now, can you go wander about in the meadow while I take care of this? "

She laughed like a little girl, and bounded out of the cabin. He shook his head; she had always loved surprises.

First things first. Finn checked the closet to see what clothes she had brought. Bingo. A little black dress and some heels. He grinned, remembering when she had told him every modern girl came prepared. Then he checked his own clothes, and made sure his simple but stylish black suit and white shirt were clean; Jane had picked it out for an RCMP formal function they attended.

Next, he called the finest hair salon in Jackson Hole. Being a ski resort, the town was used to having celebrities around. Finn smiled as he made a reservation for Rachel Berry, "You know, the recent Tony Award winner", and was inwardly delighted to hear the immediate deference he received. He was also counting on the grapevine to start to come alive. He also made an appointment at a barber shop for a trim (but just a trim—his baby had said she liked his new look).

Finally, he made reservations for two for Rachel Berry ("You know, the recent Tony Award winner") at the swankiest restaurant in town, The Blue Lion.

When he was done, Finn went out on the porch, looking for her. She was deep in the meadow, in the bright mid-morning sunshine, skipping through the grass with her arms stretched out like a little girl. He wished he had known her then.

He ran out and tackled her, rolling so that she landed on top of him, giggling, and he kissed her in the bright sunshine, in the sweet grass, under the watchful eye of the Tetons. God, how he loved this woman.

She lay on top of him, and kissed his eyes.

"Finn, can we go camping before we leave?"

"Sure," Finn said, delighted. "We can camp in Yellowstone on the way out. I'll see if I can get reservations. If not, there are lots of other places nearby."

"Cool," she said, kissing him. "Now, about my surprise."

"We're going out to dinner at the nicest restaurant in Jackson Hole" he said, and, before she could protest, continued, "But I'm taking you to get your hair done before we go. Everything's set."

She sat up, straddling him, and gave him an amusedly suspicious look.

"So why all the secrecy?"

He couldn't answer her right away; just at that moment her head blocked out the sun, its light enveloping the rest of her like a golden cloak, and she was smiling, carefree and open, her hair free and shiny, flying in the breeze, against a flawless azure sky, and he was speechless because he had never been happier in his entire life.

He just lay back, smiling, eyes half closed. Then he heard her gasp. Alarmed, Finn tried to sit up, but Rachel leaned forward, pinning his shoulders in the grass with her hands, and brought her face close to his with a look of wonder.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

She just nodded and continued to gaze at him.

"Remember when I asked you in the nurse's office, when you had mono, what you saw when you kissed me?"

"Vaguely," he answered truthfully, "That whole thing is hazy at best. Why?"

"You just had the exact same look on your face."

Finn gazed back at her.

"Wow. I was just now thinking I was happier than I'd ever been in my life."

Rachel lowered herself beside him.

"I wish I had let you explain back then," she said sadly, "But instead I let my damned insecurities get in the way."

He pulled her close.

"It's too beautiful a day to be sad," he declared.

They spent the rest of the morning walking by the lake, had lunch, then took a nap together. Eventually, it was time to get ready. Finn showed Rachel how the quirky shower worked, and reminded her it had a small hot water heater. Then he had a beer on the porch while she did her thing. She called him into the bathroom when she was applying makeup, and he got into the shower himself.

They dressed casually and he drove her to the hair salon. Walking hand-in-hand through the door, he told them "Ms. Rachel Berry" was here for her appointment. Rachel looked at him suspiciously, then with delight as several women appeared, leading her into the elegant salon, not fawning over her, yet still treating her as a VIP. One asked her if she'd like a glass of champagne (she would love one, thank you!), maybe some caviar (No, thank you). Another congratulated her on her Tony award. She looked back over her shoulder at him, beaming, and he winked, then, whistling "Faithfully", headed off to get his trim. This was going to be her night.

She texted him when she was done. He drove over and parked in the rear of the building, and entered through the back—one of the staff at the salon, as previously agreed, had texted him about two paparazzi hanging around the front. He didn't want her seen until she was ready, even though she looked stunning as is, in her white tank top and jeans, hair done almost exactly as it had been at the Prom, makeup with some final, striking touches, nails perfect.

"Nice trim, Mr. Hudson," she said, as she took his arm. They got in the car and drove back to the cabin. A town car was waiting there as they arrived.

Rachel just looked at him, agape.

"You deserve to arrive in style, Ms. Berry," he said gallantly, "You earned this." Then he sternly warned her not to cry and ruin the makeup and she laughed, kissing him lightly. In the bedroom she slipped on her dress.

"You look amazing," Finn murmured in her ear as he zipped her up. She slipped on her heels as he put on his suit, leaving the white shirt open at the neck. She was about to take his arm when he looked down and froze. The engagement ring was on her left hand.

"When I said I am yours, I meant it," Rachel said, taking his arm

as they walked to the waiting car. He opened the door for her. Inside, he kissed her.

"I am yours, too," he said.

They huddled without speaking on the drive to the restaurant, an elegant converted house in the town of Jackson Hole itself. As the car pulled up, a small group of photographers and others stood outside. Rachel looked at Finn.

"You planned all of this?"

He gave her a shrug.

"I missed your ceremony. I should have been there. Let me at least try and make sure you are recognized for the star that you are."

"Are you sure you are ready for the spotlight?"

"How much worse than the Taliban can it be?" he asked, and both of them laughed.

"Okay then," Rachel said, and turned on her huge smile. "It's show time."

Finn got out and took her hand as she emerged to a flashing of lights. She took his arm as they started to walk in.

"Ms. Berry! Ms. Berry!" Someone was asking. Rachel stopped.

"Yes?"

"Congratulations on your Tony Award!" It was a small man with a notebook.

"Thank you, you're very kind," Rachel replied graciously.

"Is this man the one you mentioned in your acceptance speech?"

She stopped and held Finn's hand. He just stood and smiled shyly.

"This is Finn Hudson, the love of my life."

The man grinned and thanked her.

"Mr. Hudson! " It was someone else. He turned.

"How long have you known Ms. Berry?"

Finn glanced at Rachel, then replied, "We've loved each other since we were fifteen."

That started a flurry of questions, but Finn raised his hand.

"We're really, really, hungry right now, and Rachel knows what happens when I'm hungry, so can she just sign autographs for her fans now so they don't have to wait, and maybe we can answer press questions afterwards?"

The reporters nodded, smiling, and the five or six fans cheered.

Rachel signed the autographs, and they headed into the restaurant.

"Not bad, Hudson," Rachel whispered, winking, "You may be a natural."

Before the hostess ushered them to their table, Rachel asked to see the owner. He appeared, a tall man in his late 30's.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Berry?"

"There may be two or three reporters outside, waiting for us..."

"I can get rid of them, if you like," he interjected.

"Oh no," Rachel said, "I just wondered if you could send out some appetizers and maybe coffee to them, and put it on our bill?"

He looked surprised. Finn wondered if any other celebrities had done that. He squeezed Rachel's waist in admiration.

Suddenly the man shook his head.

"I'll do one better," he said, "It'll be on the house. That was a very gracious thing to offer, and I'd like to honor that."

"Thank you, so much," Rachel said, giving him her patented beaming smile.

"That was a very cool thing to do, Rachel," Finn said after they were seated.

She turned pensive.

"I had enough being a diva when I was in high school," she said. "I want my karma to be positive. Besides, it won't be possible to do this in New York, where the crowds are so much bigger."

They both ordered the Risotto Florentine; Rachel had the vegan version. He chose a bottle of California Pinot Blanc after consulting with the waiter.

"Cheers, baby," Finn said, raising his glass. Rachel clinked hers with his.

"I love you, Finn," she said simply.

The waiter quietly asked them if other diners could ask for autographs, and when Rachel said yes, also asked if they could come over, say, when they were waiting for dessert? That was fine.

Finn could see Rachel was in her element: gracious, smiling, almost bigger than life. It helped ease the pain of those seven years apart, seeing her becoming what he knew she was meant to be. He ached to see her perform on stage.

They stood for a couple of pictures and questions outside. Incredibly, no one noticed the engagement ring.

Just as they were leaving, one reporter asked, "Mr Hudson! Is it true you were awarded the Silver Star for your service in Afghanistan?"

"Yes," Finn replied, feeling uncomfortably exposed.

"Are you considering another tour of duty?"

He thought for a moment, and felt Rachel squeezing his hand. She wasn't worried about his answer, but the silence was getting uncomfortable. Then he remembered the words of Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce tribe:

"I will fight no more forever," he said, and helped Rachel into the car.


	14. Chapter 14

The bones of the older generation still stood, as if unaware they had all died in 1988. Stark, charcoal-gray, silent but for the wind whistling between them, the dead lodgepole pines once had the slope overlooking Yellowstone Lake all to themselves, even before the wildfire. A hiker then could have easily moved across the forest floor, which consisted only of a brown carpet of cast-off needles and pine cones. After the blaze, the dead trees were still alone, but not for long. Some had fallen, becoming homes for returning beetles and windblown fungal spores. The fire, licking the pine cones, burned off the thick resin which covered them, releasing the seeds and allowing them to germinate in the sunlight-drenched, nutritious ash. Other plants, once prevented from growing because of the deep shade on the old forest floor, also sprang up from the soil, taking advantage of the light now streaming down through the skeletal remains of the elders.

Thirty years later, there was a riotous cotillion of life at the feet of the older trees, making it difficult for Rachel and Finn to hike very far into the thicket from the road. There were hundreds of young lodgepole pines, some already over twenty feet tall, gathered at the feet of their dead parents, clustered with other shrubs.

"This is amazing, Finn," he heard her say, looking about in wonder.

And it was. The idea that such a calamity, such a wholesale tearing down of what once was, could then turn around and give rise to such new hope resonated with him. He felt the urge to relate it to human experience in some way, perhaps in a song. There was that familiar, giddy rush of creativity.

The two of them worked their way to the crest of the slope, and gazed down on huge Yellowstone Lake. Even on the far shore, the forest bore the same kinds of scars.

"The fire must have been _enormous_!" Rachel exclaimed. The breeze off the lake was cool and refreshing; they stood, arms around each other, just taking in the sight. He told her about his idea, and she rushed them back to Kurt's car, insisting he had to write everything down while it was still fresh.

He leaned against the hood of the car, filling in the little lyrics and thoughts notebook he had been keeping, while Rachel lay on her back in the grass by the road, watching the perfect cotton-ball clouds roll by. Something about her face, looking deeply at peace, struck him then. Maybe the metaphor he was looking for was them. What they had now seemed so much deeper, richer, than when they were in high school. Maybe, just maybe, their separation, that tearing down of the old them, made it possible for the equable, rich love affair they had now to blossom. He wasn't quite sure. But he underlined the idea several times on the pages. The long drive to Lima, starting tomorrow, would give him time to mull it over further. He was glad that he had made arrangements for Bob to sell his car; there was little of his stuff to add to Rachel's in Kurt's car, and now they could be together the whole trip.

Their campsite the night before had been excellent. After dinner they sat by the fire, and, entranced, listened to the hauntingly lonely sound of wolves howling. They talked, about Jane and Tom, and how they would always fit into their life together somehow, and it was wonderful that the old insecurities remained buried. They lay in the tent, in the dark, trying to uncover the essence of their relationship, only to laughingly give up, conceding that it was indefinable, mysterious, yet somehow nourishing, sustaining, and _good_. When they made love that night, it was fiery, celebratory, and deeply, deeply satisfying. Clinging to each other afterwards, all of their physical and emotional needs met, both knew there was one more thing of which each was one-hundred percent sure: they were happy.

A great horned owl woke them up in the early morning, with its startlingly loud, yet deeply low hoot. Rachel scrambled out of the tent wearing only a t-shirt to try and call it closer. Finn loved her cry of delight when she managed to get the owl to approach them. She claimed to have seen it in one of the trees, but he couldn't see it at all. Later, as she snuggled back into his arms, she told him about the owl at the rest stop, and how she remembered the class they took together.

After the sun rose, she made him one of the best cups of coffee he ever had. Of course, he wasn't sure if the impossibly-fresh air or just the fact it was Rachel making it that gave it such a delicious flavor. Maybe both. He told her it was because she made it, naturally. She sang him a song from the musical as a reward. He laughed to himself; nobody knew this outdoorsy side of her but him. It wasn't a secret, particularly, but people tended to assume a lot about Rachel Berry upon first meeting her. Hell, he had done a lot of that himself. But Rachel always pitched in on everything, wasn't afraid of getting dirty (too much), and didn't even require an air mattress- a simple thermal pad was enough. Finn used a rolled up field coat as a pillow; she used him.

They stayed at a motel outside of Yellowstone the next night. The room was small, but the water heater was large, and they took full advantage of it—Finn pulled Rachel into the shower with him, and had her against the tiles, her arms around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist, her moaning loudly, head against his shoulder. They had only done this once before, years ago, fumbling and awkward and laughing their asses off. This time it was slick, steam-fueled intensity, two toned bodies embracing tightly, fighting gravity and the urge to come too quickly. When she found release, he felt her whole body whip away and then slap against him, like the release of a bowstring, biting his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, then her lips on his, kissing like he'd never been kissed before, predatory, Rachel relentlessly hunting down his orgasm, crushing him when it shudderingly arrived, all tingling down his legs and almost passing out. Afterwards, both their eyes wide and bright under the rushing water, gasping for breath, she solemnly offered him the soap, then burst into giggles.

Clean and sated, they crawled between the gloriously clean sheets, There was nothing to do but just be, together. Rachel fell asleep first, but not before mumbling she loved him. Somehow, it felt different when she said that to him now. Better, even though he would probably have thought that impossible seven years ago.

"I love you too," he said, and followed her soon after.

The next day Finn told Rachel they had to make two more stops before actually heading back. The first stop was Red's Bar in Sheridan, where Finn and Rachel hugged Red before saying good-bye, and then onwards southwest, up, into the Bighorns, to the Medicine Wheel.

The weather was perfect; the view from the top of that bare ridge spectacular. Hand-in-hand, they approached the fence, and Finn fished a small, exquisitely tooled, brown leather pouch with intricate beadwork from his coat pocket. It contained shreds of tobacco, and he reverently hung it on the fence alongside other offerings, some touchingly humble, like the cigarettes with the filters broken off. It was here, he explained to her, that the sense he needed more to integrate first manifested itself.

"I don't know how," he said, "but this place somehow convinced not to stay in Sheridan. I needed to find Jane and get squared away, I guess." He touched her face. "So I could be with you again."

Rachel nodded silently.

Just then a feeling came over him, something he hadn't felt since he was eight years old. Back then he has sitting in the living room with his mother, and tried imagining himself on the ceiling, _looking down at his mother and him. _He'd heard a friend at school taking about out-of-body experiences, or OBE's. Fascinated, he tried to imagine what that would be like. Much to his surprise, there was a fleeting moment, far too ethereal and delicate to maintain for more than a fraction of a second, where he did see himself and his mother from the ceiling, as if his soul had detached from his body and floated away. He felt that way now, only it wasn't fleeting, but sustained. He was soaring, the spoked outline of the Medicine Wheel, Rachel and his body far below. His winged shadow passed over them, the warm air rising from below, pushing him higher as he circled. Then he saw them: three golden eagles come to join him, their fierce warrior-eyes meeting his, unblinking. They wheeled together in the sky, Finn knowing them now, silently thanking them, promising them, then letting them go as they flew off into the West, the traditional land of the dead.

"Finn?" He felt Rachel tugging at his sleeve. "Are you okay?"

He didn't answer right away; his feet still had talons and he could hear and feel the smooth sliding of feather on feather. Then it was gone. He was back, looking into her face. Peace.

"I'm fine," he answered simply, with a smile that could only be called secret because he would never be able to explain it. He put his arm around her. "Let's go."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: taking advantage of the road trip :)**

Taking long road trips was something that Rachel had never thought she would like. Yet, just recently she had driven across two-thirds of the country alone, and had to admit it was fun. Driving from Yellowstone to Lima with Finn, however, was revelatory. They had always talked with each other in high school, but those conversations had none of the depth—or the raw honesty-their conversations on the road had.

She asked Finn about Jane, and did he love her.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation.

She told him about Tom, and that she loved him too. But both Finn and Rachel made clear that these loves did not rival their own. The bonds to Tom and Jane were of this world, made of different stuff. Rachel explained Tom's description of the tether and Finn was impressed. In absolute honesty he told Rachel that he looked forward to meeting him, and she beamed.

Rachel asked Finn if he had been frightened during that battle in Afghanistan. When he said no, she thought for a moment that he wasn't being honest, but then he made her cry when he told her he wasn't afraid because he had convinced himself he was already dead.

"If I hadn't done that, I'd have just remained in a fetal position in the rubble of that house."

Her heart went out to him.

She made him cry when she played the soundtrack to the musical. Her singing had always affected him deeply, but listening to her on a professional recording only emphasized that Rachel had truly achieved her dream, just as he always knew she would. Forgiving himself for deceiving her those last few days before putting her on the train became easier, but still took its toll, because he wanted her to trust him as he trusted her.

That trust was evident when, late at night in South Dakota, she finally built up the courage to ask him if he had killed anyone, and he told her the truth. He knew of only two for sure; he slew two Taliban charging the house, seeing them fall.

"I didn't see their eyes," he said, his voice quiet and solemn. "And I didn't know them. All I knew was, if I didn't kill them my comrades would die. That doesn't excuse what I did. It just explains it."

"No excuse is necessary," Rachel said, touching his arm, then grimly adding, "Especially to me, because I would have killed them myself if it meant saving you."

He smiled. Rachel Berry had his back.

"I fired a lot of ammunition that day," Finn admitted, "So there may have been others, but those two are the only ones I know of." He paused, then added, "Jane and I had this in common."

"Having killed someone?"

He nodded.

"In the RCMP, or Afghanistan?" Rachel wondered.

"During the prison riot," Finn replied. "When she was shot, she was spun around, and saw the prisoner who did it, grinning at her from ear to ear. Before going into shock and passing out, Jane drew her sidearm and tapped him right between the eyes."

Rachel gasped, but didn't turn away.

"I guess that's one way to get closure," she said eventually. He appreciated the gallows humor, though he appreciated even more the fact that she knew he would.

She wore a present that he gave her, a small, custom-made _pakul,_ of pinkish wool. "I told the man I wanted it to be the color of this pinkish-red stone that's found there, "Finn said, laughing, "And I had to tell him it was for my nephew. He wouldn't have made it for a woman." He paused, lost in memory. "I was missing you, and I thought of all those berets you used to wear. I thought you'd look cool with it."

"And you kept it, even after we supposedly broke up?" She fondly remembered he had a habit of doing that.

"I guess I never got around to getting rid of it," he replied with feigned nonchalance, then winked.

That led to a long discussion on Afghanistan. She asked about the culture, to see if her perceptions of it were accurate. It was so easy, she thought, to make assumptions. Finn confirmed some of them, and contradicted others. The bottom line for him was how kind and generous the Afghan people were, even when they had nothing. But he said he didn't get their attitudes towards women, and got openly angry when he talked about the so-called "honor" killings. He also worried about how their economy's dependence on poppy growing would cripple their development as a nation.

Rachel listened to him in fascination¸ respect, and pride. This introspective, aware side of him had rarely been seen in high school. She had seen it, of course; they often talked about current affairs. But now Finn spoke about them more confidently, having had the time to not only experience more, but to also reflect and, yes, integrate it all into an adult world view. He seemed so much older than her, now. She was eager to learn from him.

Rachel told him how lonely she was that first year apart.

"I was struggling with school, being away from not only you but my family for the first time, fending off a seemingly endless stream of douchebags who wouldn't take no for an answer, worrying about your safety…" She sniffed. "Of course, it's not quite on par with facing the Taliban and almost getting your ass shot off…" And when he started to protest her downplaying her feelings, she put him at ease, winking: "It's such a nice ass, you know."

They even talked about Jesse. His prediction about his fate after losing Nationals came true; the firing came by text 30 minutes after the awards ceremony.

"Harsh," Finn commented sincerely.

It turned out Jesse finally gathered the nerve to strike out for New York on his own. Rachel was out with Tom and actually saw him in a restaurant, bussing tables, once. Even then, he gave her a wave and a smile, and she went up and kissed him on the cheek.

"He has a non-lead part in a struggling off-Broadway production of _Cabaret_," Rachel said., "But I haven't seen it yet."

They also talked about the ring, and what it meant now.

"It means what it meant then, Finn," she said, "It means I intend on fulfilling my promise to marry you, some day, when we're ready. Assuming you still want to marry me, of course." She gave him an impish grin.

"Oh, I do," Finn replied, grinning too. "But there is no hurry. We'll do it right."

She leaned against his shoulder as he drove.

"I still have the dress and shoes, you know, at my dads."

"Good, he said, "I have the image of you in that dress burned into my soul, and I couldn't marry you any other way."

She laughed, gaily.

"But what if I had thrown it away? I almost did, at one point."

He rolled his eyes.

"Well, it's a damned good thing you didn't," he said softly, taking the I-75 North exit off I-70, the exit to Lima. .


	16. Chapter 16

Lima was quiet when they pulled in around 10PM. Carole had been ecstatic on the phone and said she and Burt would be awake, and that both of them could stay there (if they wished). Rachel spoke to her dads, and said she'd come by in the morning and let Finn, his mom, and Burt spend some time alone with him. Hiram and LeRoy said that was a plan, and told her to say welcome back to Finn for them.

They pulled up to the house. The porch light was on. Finn turned off the ignition and sat in the car for a moment. The windows were down, and he listened to the once-familiar sounds of his childhood home. Most notable was the constant highway noise from I-75, which, even at a low level, was very different from the almost pure silences he had been used to for the past few years. He felt Rachel's hand on his arm, felt her warm encouragement and support. She said nothing, but let him get his bearings. He took a deep breath.

"Okay," he said finally, "I'm ready."

They grabbed their overnight bags, and, hand-in-hand, walked up to the door. It opened without them having to ring the doorbell. Carole stood, unable to speak; her right hand flew to her mouth. He dropped his bag.

"Hi Mom," Finn said. He bent down and enveloped his mother in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and held on, silently sobbing into his shoulder.

For years it had just been the two of them, bearing the loneliness and the financial hardships together. Carole always worried, in the back of her mind, about Finn growing up without a father figure, and this just added to the stress and the guilt. She had to balance her job with keeping careful watch over his friends, but without micromanaging and causing him to rebel. It was exhausting playing both sides of the net at once, trying to be both mother and father, and the awful secret of Finn's father only contributed to it. But, she had reasoned, the lie gave him some kind of role model for a father. And, it seemed to have worked; Finn grew into a sensitive and caring teenager, for the most part. Then it all came crashing down. She cursed her decision to tell Finn the truth about his father, not just because it seemed to have been the catalyst driving him to propose to Rachel, but because, once he realized that was premature, all he could see to do was to choose the same path his father had chosen, the very thing she had revealed the secret to avoid in the first place. She found herself in a cruel déjà vu, worried sick every day for four years over her son's safety. For Carole, the truth had not set her free; it had condemned her to living the same agony over again. She saw it as punishment somehow, for an unknown crime, blaming herself for everything and yet unsure what she could have done, at any point, better. She shuddered to think what she would have done had it not been for Burt, whose calm, stalwart love kept her from perishing from guilt.

When Finn didn't come home, that guilt intensified. At first she thought Finn hadn't told her the truth, that he wasn't okay, but, instead, had been broken on the wheel of Operation Enduring Freedom, and was loathe to let her see what it had done to him. His little emails came regularly, however, and Carole's anxiety eased. But the ineffable bond between mother and son remained. She longed to see him again. There was simply no room for hurt feelings or recriminations anymore. There was only room for love.

They finally broke the embrace, and Carole, wiping her eyes, rushed forward and embraced Rachel in a huge hug as well, while Burt appeared and dragged Finn inside, slapping him on the back. Carole ushered Rachel inside as well.

There was hot cocoa laid out on a tray on the coffee table in the living room. Finn and Rachel sat together on the couch, while Carole and Burt sat on the easy chairs at each end.

"We figured you'd probably be tired, and not want coffee," Carole said, still wiping tears away.

"Yes, Carole, thanks," Rachel said. Finn nodded. There was small talk. How was your trip? It's so good to have you back. Fortunately, everyone was tired; Carole and Burt had just gotten back the day before from Washington. The full story would have to wait. As they stood up to go to bed, there was an awkward pause about the sleeping arrangements, then Burt waved both of them off to Finn's old room, laughing and shaking his head.

"There's no way I'm going to forbid a Silver Star winner from sleeping with a Tony Award winner, who also happens to be the love of his life, under my roof." Rachel giggled.

Finn looked at Rachel.

"Wow, those awards do come in useful, after all."

Burt put his arm around Carole and got serious.

"We couldn't be more proud of the two of you if we tried," he said, and bid them goodnight.

Later that night, Finn and Rachel cuddled, spooning together, on the verge of sleep, in his old bed. Neither of them spoke. Finn cupped Rachel's right breast, and she caressed his arm, running her hand up and down. The room conjured up a host of memories for both of them, but Rachel and Finn almost didn't recognize their old selves. Everything seemed more intense then. There was no melancholy in thinking this; what they had now was joyous. But it was an interesting exercise for both of them to make the comparison.

"When I was in Afghanistan," Finn whispered, "It was boring as hell most of the time, so I started reading at the base. They had a pretty good library of donated books from home."

She smiled at the idea. One thing she had noticed different about Finn was the way he spoke. His vocabulary had exploded, and he spoke with confidence and strength.

"What books did you read?" She whispered back.

"A hodgepodge, whatever was available. _Catch-22_. _On the Road_. _The Odyssey and the Iliad. _And poetry. There was this one collection of T.S. Eliot I read over and over, mostly because I couldn't understand it." She chuckled softly and squeezed his arm. "One of the poems had a weird title, 'Little Gidding', which I guess is a place.

Anyway, I was thinking about us just now. When I think back to the way we were before, I almost don't recognize us. I used to think that version of us was eternal, and the way we would always be. Man, was I wrong."

"You don't think we'll always be?" Rachel asked, not quite understanding where he was going.

"No…no. But I know I feel different about you and me now, in a good way. And there was a passage from that poem which stayed with me for some reason, and I think it applies to us:

_**We shall not cease from exploration  
And the end of all our exploring  
Will be to arrive where we started  
And know the place for the first time**_**. "**

He pulled her closer.

"Here we are, after being apart for so long, back where we started, and yet so much happier, so much more at peace."

He pulled her so that she faced him in the dark.

"Rachel, I love you now more than I ever did before, something that I once thought was impossible."

"Me too," she told him. "When I think back, my epic love was puny by comparison."

They kissed, and eventually fell asleep in each other's arms, in Lima, in the town in which they were born and raised, in the place where _they_ began.

**XXXxxxx**

Finn sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee, before dawn. He knew his mother would be up soon, wanting to make breakfast, and he wanted to have her all to himself. He wanted to tell her everything; he owed her that much. A lyric from a Dylan song ran through his head:

_**Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?  
And where have you been, my darling young one?  
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains  
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways  
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests  
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans  
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard  
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard  
It's a hard rain's a gonna fall.**_

He felt like a wandering minstrel. And he wasn't sure what, exactly, he could tell her about Afghanistan. It wasn't that she was too delicate to deal with it; she was a nurse, for crissakes. It was more his inability to express what he experienced. Jane had understood, filling in the blanks where he could not. And she had been able to give Rachel a general idea of that last patrol. But she wasn't here to tell his mother. It was up to him. In the end, he decided to play it by ear.

Carole came downstairs a few minutes later, and looked surprised to see him there.

"I half expected to see Rachel," she said, grinning.

He chuckled.

"She sleeps on a Broadway schedule, now. And I like to get up early just to think in the quiet."

Carole poured herself some coffee and sat opposite him. He gripped his coffee cup.

"Mom, I am really sorry for staying away for so long."

Carole looked at her son intently.

"I have to admit", she said, slowly, " I was hurt—devastated-at first, when you said you weren't coming home. I- I didn't think there was anything we couldn't deal with together." She looked down at the table. "I just wanted to see my baby again."

He nodded.

"I don't want to know about Afghanistan—yet," she said firmly, "But please tell me where you've been these last three years, at least. I know you were in Sheridan, Wyoming, first."

"Yeah, that notification from the VA hospital there was what Rachel used as a starting point." He got up and poured himself some more coffee. "I was there almost a year. Then I was up in Canada, in Alberta." He paused, wondering how to phrase it. "I met a girl there," he said simply.

Carole's cup froze halfway to her mouth.

"A girl? "

"Well, she wasn't just a 'girl', mom. She was a _bona fide _Mountie, who had served in the Canadian Forces Military Police in Afghanistan, and was badly wounded there. Her name is Jane Feeney."

His mother recovered from the shock and motioned him to continue.

"We helped each other through the nightmares. Mine were easing off, but still fairly frequent; hers were only occasional by the time we met. We were together for two years."

"Wow. And Rachel?"

Finn smiled.

"She knows. In fact, they met. That's how she found out where I was."

Carole shook her head.

"It sounds complicated."

"Well, not really. Even though we loved each other, we realized, deep down, we were far more in love with someone else. For Jane, it was her ex-husband, Brian, a Mountie and ex-MP who was stationed far to the north. After Afghanistan, he couldn't handle crowds, and she couldn't handle the isolation. But Jane thinks they might get back together. As for me, well, it's been Rachel, right down the line." He sighed.

"You look happy, Finn," Carol said, taking his hands. "Are you okay for sure? Ready to be here?"

He smiled.

"Yeah, mom. Rachel helped me past some of the other issues. I feel whole, now. I just didn't want you to feel like it was dad all over again."

"You're my son," Carole said emphatically, tears in her eyes. "I would have taken you in any condition."

He knew that. But he also knew that she understood, and, more importantly, accepted, the reasoning behind what he did. Because he had been her son long before he was anyone's friend or lover.

He got up and just hugged her where she sat, and winked at Rachel, who had come downstairs and turned the corner into the kitchen, in hopes of scoring some of Finn's coffee.

His heart soared for them both.

**A/N: The Poem is 'Little Gidding", by T.S. Eliot. The lyrics are from "A Hard Rain's A Gonna Fall," by Bob Dylan. **


	17. Chapter 17

In ten hours, they would be in New York. Finn was driving the first leg so that Rachel, who knew the streets, could get them home. She idly watched the fields as they left Lima, and thought about the day before.

Her dads, of course, were glad to see her, and wanted to talk about who they met at the Tony Awards (Neil Patrick Harris! Nathan Lane!). They saved the best for last.

"We met Patty Lupone!" her Daddy said, his eyes wide. "I mentioned that you had met her at Sardi's when you were in high school, and she actually remembered!"

Rachel was in shock.

"And what did she say?"

Hiram looked like he could burst.

"She first asked me if the man you mentioned in your acceptance speech was the same young man that was with you at Sardi's. When I said yes, she replied, 'Well then, tell Rachel I'm glad that she took my advice.' Then she winked and said she'd seen your show three times."

Rachel loved how the Broadway community treated her parents. They deserved all of it, she thought. They were eccentric, sweet and she adored them. She reminded them to consider retiring early and moving to New York, so they could all live the dream together, just as they had chased it together. Her Dad gave her an enigmatic smile, and said they were "thinking about it."

They told her how happy they were for her and Finn (even though she knew how much they had loved Tom), and that they were looking forward to the party that night.

She spent some time alone in her room to get ready. In her closet, the white garment box was still there on the shelf, patiently waiting. She ran her fingers over it, remembering how the dress felt, and the look it garnered from him. But there were other memories too, of wanting to destroy it-and the ring- after the breakup. They made her wince. She was glad something prevented her from going ahead with it. At the time she cursed herself for being weak, for not having the strength to finally burn that last bridge to him, and make the pain stop. But magic must have been afoot, even then. A smile came over her face. The dress and ring were still a bridge, yes, but not just to him. They were also a bridge to that time, to their innocence. A reminder of how it was almost ripped from them. In _Casablanca_, Ilse Lund put her blue dress away when the Germans marched into Paris, vowing to take it out again only when they marched out. Rachel would take her wedding gown out again, but not before she and Finn were fully settled in their life together in New York. It would be the perfect metaphor for their reunion. And metaphors were important.

She laid out a simple blue dress on her bed, in Ilse Lund's honor, and, before taking her shower, looked again into the closet.

"Hang in there," she murmured, and closed the door.

The party was a low-key affair, with Rachel's dads, Will and Emma Schuester, and Puck and his wife Sarah joining them. Finn looked somewhat uncomfortable at first, but warmed up after a couple of glasses of champagne. Burt gave a speech, saying how this was the happiest speech he had given as a US Congressman, welcoming his stepson back, and toasting his health. Rachel had insisted to Carole that any celebration of her award come last, and her request was honored. Will stood and toasted her Tony award, saying she had made them all proud, and then everyone simply enjoyed each other's company.

"What about Kurt?" Will asked, and Rachel explained the New York contingent was planning further celebrations when they got there. Will took Rachel aside at one point and hugged her.

"I felt so bad for you at the train platform," he said, "But Finn's decision was the right one I think. Emma and I are overjoyed that Finn is back intact, that you have achieved so much, and most of all…" He kissed her on the forehead, "…We are so happy for you and Finn reuniting." He called Finn over and asked them if they would be interested in in giving a master class in show choir to New Directions when school started. Rachel's heart warmed to see Finn nod enthusiastically, then get into a deep conversation about using Dylan.

Puck and Sarah came over to her.

"Berry! Congrats on the Tony, and for dragging Finn's sorry ass back to us."

Rachel laughed. He owned a hardware (and pool supply) store in Lima, but visited New York regularly with Sarah, a teacher. She bore a remarkable resemblance to Quinn.

"Thanks, Noah. I'm glad I found him, too."

Sarah hugged her tightly.

"Good luck, Rachel," she whispered, "Both of you deserve to be together, after all of this."

As she stared out the car window, Rachel thought about Sarah's remark, and karma.

"Do we deserve to be this happy?" she asked Finn.

His response was immediate, and wise.

"Why wouldn't we deserve it?"

That, of course, was the more pertinent question. She couldn't think of a single reason.

"Why did you bring that up?" Finn gave her a curious glance. She didn't know, really. Perhaps, in the back of her mind, she was afraid there was something that would tear them apart again.

"Well, we've almost been married twice. Most people would take that as a sign."

Finn snorted.

"Most people wouldn't have come searching for me after winning a Tony. You know, Rachel, most people would have called that an act of epic love."

He smiled, knowing what that term meant to her, and how it must have hurt to use it after what he did, but he wanted his Rachel to understand that her love for him had always been epic, and that, most likely when they got to New York and the press welcomed her back, it had the potential for becoming a legend. To be part of her legend didn't bother him in the least; he had been to hell, the hell of loving her so much that he had to let her go, the hell of watching comrades die to save him, and had dwelt in its awful twilight for far too long to be frightened by something like the showbiz press. He wanted the world to fall at her feet, to be as mind-spinningly in love with her talent as he was, and had been, since the moment he first heard her sing. He wanted to spend the rest of his life loving Rachel's soul, which had believed in him, with unswerving conviction, from the very beginning.

"Jesse _was_ right about something, baby," he said with a wink, "You deserve epic romance in return."

"I'd settle for just being able to sleep with you for the rest of my life," she replied, happily.

"Done," he said, then suddenly had an incredible idea.

"What are you thinking?" Rachel asked, seeing his visage split suddenly by a goofy grin.

He gave her a mysterious look.

"You'll have to wait and see," he said, then laughed as she pouted.

They stopped for coffee in Pennsylvania, three hours outside of New York City. They drank it outside, sitting together on a bench, leaning into each other. A few years later, a photographer for the _New York Post_ would capture them sitting like that, on a bench in Battery Park one stunningly beautiful autumn afternoon, and make it the iconic photograph of _their_ legend.


	18. Chapter 18

They were gathered on the sidewalk as Rachel and Finn pulled up at 8AM: Tom, Emily, Kurt, Blaine, Santana and Brittany. Tom had pulled his car away from the curb and parked it one block over so they could park and unload right in front of the building.

Finn's heart warmed to see Kurt, and he was anxious to meet Tom and Emily. Tom didn't look as he had imagined, and Rachel hadn't described him. He wasn't very tall, maybe five-six, and had curly hair and round glasses, dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans. He resembled a picture of a young Warren Zevon Finn had seen on an album cover at Jane's. Emily was blonde, a little taller, wearing a purple tank top and black yoga pants; she had a lithe, dancer's body. The rest were dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts except Kurt, whose outfit Finn couldn't quite get his mind around. It wasn't outlandish, and at first glance seemed to be a variation of what everyone else wore, but the angles were all off, as if he had ripped everything up into strips and sewed them back together, leaving a few pieces out. It was rather ingenious, he thought.

He hugged Kurt first.

"Welcome back, brother," Kurt said, with tears in his eyes.

"I've missed you, man," Finn said, sincerely.

Santana was next.

"Dammit, Lurch, don't you ever leave us again, " she admonished. "Do you have any idea what Berry is like without you? "

He watched Rachel hug Tom, long and close. They kissed each other on the cheek, and Finn liked the way Tom looked at her, with warmth and respect. Frankly, he had worried about what it might be like living with her former lover, irrationally thinking they'd be in competition. He had to tell himself that Tom and Rachel would have intimate interactions, simply because they had lived together so long, that had nothing to do with their past romantic involvement. He was relieved when the discomfort faded so quickly.

Brittany couldn't say anything. She just cried happily through the hug. Blaine shook his hand first and simply said "Glad to have you back."

Then it was time. Rachel went to his side, hand resting reassuringly on the small of his back, perhaps sensing his earlier discomfort, as Tom approached, hand outstretched.

"Welcome home, Finn," he said, "I'm Tom Foley".

Finn sensed surprise (and maybe relief?) when he grasped Tom's hand with both of his, warmly.

"Thanks, man," Finn said, with an open smile.

Finally, he approached Emily. She had been standing apart, shyly. He offered his hand.

"Pleased to meet you Emily, I'm Finn." She surprised him with a fierce hug.

"Welcome home. We're all proud of you. My younger brother Marty was a Navy corpsman assigned to the Seventh Marines in Afghanistan, and he came home safe, too. "

"We were on a joint operation with the Seventh Marines my first year there," he told her, "Let's talk later, okay?" She smiled and nodded.

"Okay! Now that we're done with the meets-and-greets, let's get Rachel and Finn unloaded so we can start celebrating!" Kurt was adorably excited.

"He's got an elaborate Sunday brunch reservation for us," Blaine whispered to them.

Finn held up his hand, his other arm tightly around Rachel's waist.

"That sounds great, guys, but there's something I have to do first."

He turned to Rachel, and, reaching down, cupped the back of her head in his large hands. Their eyes locked, hers radiating love and trust, and everyone—no, everything else but them—disappeared, just like it did the last time they kissed in New York, so long ago, and they kissed on the street, him bending her back like that famous photograph of the sailor and the nurse in Times Square on VJ-Day. He bent her back so far her _pakul _almost fell off. The kiss was deep, and she responded in kind, reaching for his face. Then he pulled her up, close to him, and she pressed her face against his chest, arms around his waist.

"We're here, baby," he murmured, "Just like we planned."

"God, I love you," she whispered.

The rest started clapping and laughing, as Santana sighed and grabbed something in the car.

The apartment was small, but bigger than he had imagined. It was sparsely decorated, with a couple of Broadway posters, the biggest and most prominent being the one for _Mount Olympus Blues_, which had a silhouette of Rachel as Sally, dancing about a fountain emerging from a pool, with a mountain behind it.

Their bedroom was nice: spare, a few more posters, and a bed with a nightstand, and a framed picture of them at Nationals. They stowed everything, to be sorted later, and joined their friends.

The restaurant was only a leisurely twenty-minute walk away, so the eight of them sauntered along, Finn soaking in the neighborhood, Rachel on his arm, pointing out various things.

The hostess at the restaurant reacted quickly to Kurt, and they were ushered to a nice outdoor spot.

"Rachel dear," Kurt said, 'Thanks for winning that Tony and letting me design that dress. It's opened a wealth of doors! "

The champagne was delivered, and everyone toasted Finn and Rachel's return. Then the questions began.

"So now you have matching outfits?" Kurt was intrigued. "I love your hats."

"Finn had mine custom made." Rachel said proudly.

There were a couple of questions about Afghanistan. Then, Santana sent Finn a murderous look when Jane's name came up.

"It's okay, Santana," Rachel said, smiling. "I met her. We're friends, and I hope she comes to New York to visit."

Finn, who sat next to Santana, put his arm around her.

"She helped me through the worst part of all this," he said, "And I haven't had a nightmare since Rachel showed up."

Santana just growled. "As long as Berry is cool with it…"

Tom had an enigmatic look, but said nothing. Emily squeezed his arm.

Brittany finally said something, asking if he saw any Afghan hounds.

"You know, I don't recall seeing one," Finn said. "Maybe I was in the wrong part of the country." Brittany nodded.

"Did you get to hear any Afghan music?" Tom asked.

Finn nodded.

"Yeah, a little. I liked it. But the best music I heard over there was from Uzbekistan. It had an Indian sound to it, lots of sitar, and with a heavy beat. I have some on my iPod; we can listen to it later, if you like. "The two of them soon were lost in a deep discussion about the music, and Emily hugged Rachel.

"This is going to be great," she whispered in her ear. Rachel laughed in agreement.

Kurt stood up and clinked a spoon against his glass.

"Guys, I'd like to say a few words on the behalf of all of us."

Finn winced; Rachel squeezed his hand under the table.

"It's been almost twenty-five-hundred days since my brother left us. For those of us who love him, fifteen-hundred of those days were spent praying for his safety, and the remainder were spent hoping he'd find peace so that he could return. I would like to toast his return to us." Kurt raised his glass, along with everyone else. "Here's to the return of Finn Hudson!"

Glasses clinked. Kurt continued.

"But there's another reason to celebrate. The entire time Finn was gone, the Universe was out of synch. It was out of synch because two people, who never should have been apart, were without each other. Those of us who love them suffered their agony just as intensely as they did. Rachel and Finn tried to make the best of it. They achieved some amazing goals, found new friends, even new loves."

Finn wished Kurt hadn't said that last thing. Rachel glanced kindly at Tom, and Finn saw him look down briefly, with a wistful smile on his face. Emily, empathetic, leaned closer to him. Finn made a note to himself to treat Tom gently. He already liked and respected him; he wasn't about to rub this in his face. His respect for Emily went up as well. Kurt continued.

"The truth is, I've never seen two people believe as much in the other as Finn and Rachel, and their separation broke my heart. So it makes me glad to see that they eventually came to their senses, and that the Universe may now get its way. You were meant to be together. Here's to that!" He raised his glass again, and everyone cheered, even Tom, Finn noted. They kissed happily.

"Finally, I'd like to congratulate Rachel and Tom for their achievements. I never dreamed I'd be rubbing elbows with Tony winners so soon. Here's to more!"

He finally sat down, and everyone enjoyed the meal. Rachel and Tom talked about the show. Miriam had been having a blast, and getting some good reviews, but the fans wanted Rachel back, especially when the producers mounted a large picture of her and Finn from Jackson Hole on a screen above the stage. Rachel called her agent and confirmed that she'd be back on stage in three days- she wanted to get some rehearsal time to get back in the groove.

Finn and Emily talked about Queens College. She was a graduate of the Drama, Theater and Dance department, and told him about the prestigious Aaron Copeland School of Music there. They agreed to take a trip over and check it out. Emily told Finn that his show choir credentials and drumming ability would help get him in.

"I saw the video of that Nationals performance, Finn, and Rachel wasn't the only star on that stage," she said. He looked over at Rachel, who mouthed "I'm proud of you."

On the way back, Rachel noticed Finn and Kurt walking together, talking in low tones, then saw Kurt nod and nearly burst with excitement, with Finn chuckling. She smiled to herself, and didn't bring it up.

The rest of the day was spent resting and hanging around the apartment, and after everyone but the four roommates left they ordered Chinese for dinner. Finn familiarized himself with everybody's schedule, which was posted on the refrigerator. Fortunately they all worked on the same show, Tom probably the least now, but Rachel and Emily were always gone for rehearsal and performances.

They sat together in the living room. Tom and Emily were drinking wine, and Rachel and Finn had beer, Pilsner Urquell, that they picked up at the small liquor store on the corner.

Tom gave Rachel a quizzical look.

"I didn't know you liked beer, Rachel" he said, puzzled.

Rachel paused, because she didn't want to hurt him, then remembered he was made of sterner stuff than that.

"It was something Finn and I enjoyed from way back," she said, "something we enjoyed together. I didn't want to drink it alone; besides, I like wine too, and since the both of you prefer wine…"

"Have you ever tried this beer?" Finn asked. Tom and Emily shook their heads. He got up and opened a bottle and handed it to them. Each took a sip, and, as Rachel expected, neither seemed to like it. But Tom surprised her by taking another sip.

"Maybe I can learn to like it," he said, and swallowed some more. "Maybe it goes well with football—you do like football, right?" And he winked.

Rachel and Emily groaned, suddenly realizing Finn's arrival had just doubled the football fans in the apartment, tripled when Blaine was over.

"Louie," Finn said, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Everyone laughed, and Finn changed the subject.

"How did you come up with the idea for _Mount Olympus Blues?_ "

Finn leaned back, arm around Rachel, and listened as all three joined in. He had a lot of catching up to do.

Later, as they settled in for the night, Finn tried to tune out the city's noises, to no avail. But he had Rachel in his arms, and felt at home. She had been right, all those years ago. Thinking about her, thinking about the reality of _them, _was enough for him to relax. So he simply stopped fighting it. He surrendered, and with it sleep came at last.

**XXXxxxxx **

Tom awoke earlier than usual, before dawn. He smelled coffee; this was new. Emily was tucked into him, on her side, still fast asleep, so he carefully peeled away from her, threw on a t-shirt over his pajama bottoms, and headed out into the kitchen.

Finn was sitting at the table, engrossed in reading something on his iPad. He was dressed in an olive-drab t-shirt and blue flannel pajama bottoms, and fur-lined moccasins. His big white coffee mug was decorated with an olive, inverted pentagon; a large red "1" inscribed inside it. He looked up with a grin.

"Help yerself to a cup of Joe," he said. "Emily's on Broadway time as well?"

Tom nodded, pouring himself a cup.

"I used to be, when we were getting the play ready for production, but I'm relaxing more these days, thinking about my next project." He sat at the table and took a sip.

"You're hired, dude!" He exclaimed. "This is fucking great coffee!"

"Well, you guys could make great coffee too, if you bothered to scrub out the carafe once and awhile," Finn replied, taking a sip himself. "Jesus, it looked like it was made of brown glass."

Tom grinned good-naturedly. Finn wasn't turning out anything like he had expected. To be honest, the way Rachel had described him, and the videos he had seen, Tom couldn't see what the connection, this "tether", actually was. In the flesh, however, it soon became clear. The two of them absolutely adored each other, but not in a goofy, high-school romance kind of way. Sure, there was the infatuation, but not sickeningly sweet, as Kurt and Santana had once described it. There was something tempering it: a profound, underlying, mutual respect, he decided. They were also very different in temperament. Rachel was intense, driven, strong; Finn was strong as well, but in a laid-back, quiet way.

Tom laughed to himself; the writer in him was coming out. The fact remained he never had that kind of connection with Rachel. But he was developing a fascinatingly different kind of connection with Emily. Artistically, Rachel had been closer to Tom in that she dealt with music and language. They also had similar temperaments. Emily, on the other hand, was concerned primarily with music and _motion_. She approached her art from a completely different perspective, something that also colored her relationship with him. In public she was physical, not disgustingly so, but subtle, yet unerringly direct, empathetic, and honest. Rachel would always tell him what she was thinking, but Emily simply showed him; that was the difference. She was a woman of few words and quiet strength. Like Finn, actually. Both women were beautiful, that wasn't an issue. With Emily, Tom felt he could spend the rest of his life learning her language, yet never get to the bottom of it, it was that different from his own nature. And her sunny, loving disposition made him want to spend the rest of his life doing just that.

"What are you reading?" Tom asked, curious. Finn handed over the iPad. It was an e-book, Jack Kerouac's _The Dharma Bums_.

"Hmmm. The only Kerouac I've read is _On the Road_." He saw Finn nod, familiarly.

"I knew this grizzled staff sergeant, a lifer, over in Afghanistan. He said the best thing I could do for myself, since I hadn't gone the college route, was to take advantage of the down time by reading, not playing fucking video games." He sat back in the chair and ran a hand in his hair. "I can't believe how much of my life I wasted playing those damned things."

Tom laughed.

"I never got into them, for some reason."

"Anyway," Finn continued, "He said there were a few books I should read that might help make sense of how I felt when I got out. _On the Road_ was one—he said it addressed the restlessness. Hemingway's _The Sun Also Rises_ was another. And the last was the best: Somerset Maugham's _The Razor's Edge_."

Tom's eyebrows lifted.

"Never read it."

"I didn't get a chance to read it until I was out of the Army, up in Canada. It's about a Word War One veteran's spiritual journey. There was a line that rang so true with me, about what I did to Rachel after graduation:

_**Unfortunately sometimes one can't do what one thinks is right without making someone else unhappy. "**_

"That's for sure," Tom agreed, then added, almost to himself, "Even if the person you make unhappy is yourself." __

"Ain't that the truth," Finn said.

The two men sat quietly for a few seconds, both fully aware of Rachel's spirit behind their thoughts.

"I wanted her to love me as much as she loved you," Tom said, as honestly as he could, "But I realized she was far too much like me for it to last. It would have been glorious and intense, but…" he sighed, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with his shirt, "eventually it would have burnt out. What you have is stable. And good."

Finn let him pause again, because he was obviously going to say more, and it was going to be earnest.

"I need you to know that Rachel and I are, truly, only the best of friends, and you need not worry about me on that score. But, equally as important, we are artistic partners. I seem to write best with her voice in mind; you only have to hear Miriam sing, as good as she is, to see the difference. I want to know, need to know, that you are cool with that, because when we work it can seem as if we are an old bickering married couple."

Tom held his breath. Finn didn't respond right away. He seemed to be slowly digesting what Tom had told him. His face revealed no obvious emotion. Suddenly he cleared his throat.

"Does she throw her hairbrush at you?" he asked

Tom just stared at him. Finn shrugged.

"I really appreciate what you just said," Finn told him, as earnestly as he could express, "Rachel has told me what a fantastic working relationship you both have, and you needn't worry—working with you makes her happy. So it makes me happy, too. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough." Tom was relieved. He wanted to ask Finn something else.

"This spiritual journey in _The Razor's Edge_, tell me about it."

Finn described the basic plot of the novel, with its undertones of Eastern philosophy, and something clicked in Tom's mind. He felt the familiar rush of excitement, the telltale feeling for the genesis of another work. Finn gave him a very intent look. And then Tom explained what just happened, and started asking Finn how he had felt coming home, and could they somehow transform that into a work of art to explore the process, that spiritual journey, only done in a modern setting, with today's vet's concerns? Suddenly, Finn sat up.

"I have the perfect title for it."

"What's that?" Tom was grinning, the excitement was high, and to have a title already would be perfect.

"_Integration_," Finn said, and Tom jumped up to get a pad of paper and a couple of pencils.

Several hours later, Rachel ran into Emily in the hall after using the bathroom. They heard murmurs from the kitchen, and decided to check on how the two guys were getting along. They tiptoed down the hall and peeked inside: Finn and Tom were oblivious to them, heads down, writing and discussing something intensely.

"What are you guys working on?" Rachel finally asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Tom looked around, a huge grin on his face.

"Our next Tony Awards," he said.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I needed to give some perspective from a neglected OC. Dear Readers, meet Emily Lauder. Lyric is from "I've Been Loving You Too Long", by Otis Redding and Jerry Butler**

Emily Lauder had never been involved in as intense or complex a romantic relationship as this one before. She had always considered herself open-minded (don't we all?), but it felt like she was stepping into a fertile minefield getting involved with Tom Foley, even more so when she moved into the apartment he shared with his artistic partner _and_ former lover, Rachel Berry.

Emily and Rachel knew each other from the time she choreographed a routine for a class she was taking at Queens College, and NYADA picked it up for their students as well. Emily was invited over to demonstrate it to a class, and Rachel, a freshman who was having problems in the class, asked Emily if she could give Rachel some extra help.

The two became friends. Emily showed Rachel how to train her body differently, so that her motion became smooth and seamless, instead of occasionally looking staccato at times, usually right before a difficult move. She encouraged Rachel to switch from ballet to yoga for flexibility.

This had a beneficial effect on Rachel, who was in her first year in New York. She was angry, lonely and confused over what had happened with Finn. It almost set her in a tailspin at school, especially with the difficult time she was having with the dancing. Yoga's ties to meditation and peace enabled her to come to terms with the uncertainty over Finn and to not let that interfere with her studies. It also helped convince her to try the long distance effort with Finn, when their communication became more regular. Finally, yoga provided her a means of channeling away the pain and anguish after the breakup, and gave her the confidence to try and move on with Tom.

Emily first met Tom when he was with Rachel, on a double-date with her then-boyfriend, George. Tom seemed pleasant enough to her then. She remembered telling Rachel that, and encouraged her to get more serious with him. She saw him maybe two times after that, once after he and Rachel had moved in together. But then her schoolwork started to heat up, and she and Rachel met only occasionally for coffee, they were so busy.

She knew about Finn, of course. And when Rachel and Tom broke up, Emily knew why. Soon after, they were having coffee, and Rachel opened up about living together with Tom now that they were just colleagues and roommates.

"He seems to be okay—he says he's okay with it-but I know it hurts. The only saving grace is that he's able to compartmentalize personal crap when he works." Rachel looked worried. "The other times, though, it's hard, especially when we're doing something routine, like cooking, standing at the stove, for instance, and almost fall into the old pattern of intimacy."

"What about you?" Emily asked.

Rachel gave Emily a long, resigned, sigh.

"When Finn put me on that train, he said we both have things to do that we had to do alone. I'm not done yet, and he's here in the USA, finally, but having to readjust, God knows where." A pause. She looked lost for a moment, then said: "I've loved Finn since I was fifteen."

Then she sang a line from an old Otis Redding soul song:

"_**I've been loving you too long to stop now,**_**" **and managed a wan smile.

"That's how I'm doing."

One day a few weeks later Emily dropped by the apartment to borrow a book of Rachel's. Tom answered the door, looking exhausted.

"Come on in", he said, "Rachel finally crashed a half hour ago, but I think I know where that book is." He moved like a zombie, then laughed, waving his hand around the living room apologetically. "We've been up two-and-a-half days straight, pardon the mess."

He was right. The place looked like the ones in those guy movies, pizza boxes and food cartons lying around. Emily grinned to herself.

"You look like you could use a break yourself," she told him. Tom found the book (under a pizza box—Rachel had left it out for Emily the day before), and handed it to her.

"You're right." His eyes were red-rimmed, fatigued. "But I can't sleep yet. Care to help me finish this bottle of Pinot Noir?"

"Sure." She had nothing else to do at that moment. He made his way to the kitchen and came back with two glasses of the dark red wine. She took hers and he clinked glasses. They sat on the couch.

He told her they were finalizing material to present to the producers.

"Then we'll see if they want to take us on."

She noticed how animated and energetic he became when talking about the show, despite his exhaustion. When finished, however, Tom sank back in the couch, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. Even tired, they remained a very bright blue.

"How are _you_ doing, Tom?"

He looked at her warily.

"You mean, how am I doing regarding Rachel?"

She just nodded kindly, sipping her wine. He surprised her with a smile, a rueful smile, yes, but a smile nonetheless.

"We both know how much I love her," he said. "But I don't have the unearthly connection she has with Finn. It's nobody's fault. And I'm grateful that we have this amazing working relationship. Oh, _fuck_ it!" He stopped. "I'm goddamned miserable, Emily, to be honest." Then he laughed, managing to extract a giggle from her. He looked sort of adorable, even in his misery.

"What about you? Aren't you seeing that guy…George?"

"Not since last month."

They sat, looking at each other for a moment. Did something just happen between them? Maybe. She finished her wine, got up and gave him a hug.

"Get some sleep," she said, and he nodded, but looked at her like he had just decoded something more.

That weekend Emily met Rachel for coffee. Rachel looked like she had actually gotten some rest: her eyes were bright, and she wore an easy smile. They talked about the upcoming auditions with the producers, and Rachel went on to describe her disastrous one for NYADA. Emily was surprised, then sympathetic, and finally amused as Rachel continued the story about stalking Carmen. Rachel shrugged.

"Tom says that Rachel Berry never gives up." They both took sips of coffee.

"Rachel, may I ask you something?" Emily suddenly sat with her hands clasped, still not sure she even wanted to ask the question. Rachel nodded. Her mouth went dry.

"What would you think about me going on a date with Tom?"

Rachel first looked surprised, then intrigued.

"Has he asked you?" She was smiling curiously, but Emily couldn't read her expression fully.

"No, no." She looked down, embarrassed. "I was going to ask him."

Rachel sat back, thinking, a range of emotions quickly passing over her face. Emily could tell she wanted to say something right away, but changed her mind. There was definitely some kind of inner dialogue going on. Finally she spoke.

"I'd be careful, Emily, rebounding and all, for both of you." Rachel was open and honest. "But yeah, I think you should."

Emily had expected Rachel to be more territorial. After all, she still lived in the same apartment. And, to be honest, Emily would have been, had Rachel been asking the same of her. But Rachel Berry had a knack for confounding people's expectations.

"Is something wrong?" Rachel was looking at her, slightly amused. "Did you expect me to tell you it was a terrible idea?"

"I wasn't sure what to expect," Emily replied, honestly, then said, "This all seems so…high school."

Rachel's face became unreadable. Emily felt for her friend at that moment. Emily's high school experience and love life had been nowhere near as insanely complicated. She was from Connecticut, with a middle-class, loving family, and went to a high school with a culture that valued and nurtured the arts. The artsy kids weren't the popular ones, sure, but they weren't persecuted. Her high school wasn't anything like the hell hole Rachel described. She had two boyfriends in high school, both musicians, and cried when she broke up with one of them. Emily never had to worry about her talent and ambition being resented, and her desire to leave her home town wasn't viewed as an act of elitism. Her life, up to this point, could have been described as, for lack of a better term, normal.

Everything about Rachel, on the other hand, seemed bigger than life: raised by gay parents, meets and is abandoned by her birth mother, awesomely talented, persecuted in high school, practically friendless until she meets the popular quarterback and falls in love, stormy relationship, almost married—_twice,_ and to the _same_ guy—before she is eighteen, prom queen, national show choir title, gets into the most exclusive arts school in the country after choking on the audition. Rachel Berry's life had _legend_ written all over it. At that moment, however, she wore the cost of it on her face.

Yet she reached out and patted Emily's hand.

"Be good to him," she said.

That goddamned Finn better be good to you, Emily thought.

Tom was working alone in the apartment when Emily dropped by again on a Saturday morning. It was a warm day, so she wore a very short denim miniskirt , black ballet flats, and a white tank top. Her long, blonde hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail.

He seemed surprised to see her. Much of the exhaustion she remembered the last time was still on his face. She just had to get him out of there.

"Uh—hi. Rachel's out, getting her nails done."

"I know," Emily said. "I've come to take you to breakfast."

Startled, he cocked his head, and for a moment she thought he was going to turn her down. But then she saw him look at her appreciatively—she knew her long, perfectly-toned, dancer's legs would get his attention—and tossed the music he had in his hand behind him with a grin.

"That's the best offer I've had today," he said, "Come on in."

The apartment looked clean and orderly this time.

"I'm going to get cleaned up," he said, "You look too good to be seen out with a slob."

She nodded silently, as if in complete agreement. Then she sat on the couch, enjoying him watch her cross her legs.

"_Allez_," she ordered, shooing him away with a wave of her hand.

He disappeared into the bathroom, and Emily relaxed. The shower came on, and she idly wondered if he was thinking about her legs as he soaped up. She imagined soaping him up herself, then chuckled at her presumption.

He emerged from the bathroom in an old cotton plaid robe (she had hoped for just a towel around his waist, but hey) and waved, disappearing into his bedroom. Eventually he emerged, in a dark-blue polo shirt and jeans,.

Let's go," he said, placing a hand on the small of her back as they went into the hall. He smelled faintly of a simple, non-obnoxious bodywash product. No cologne. No godawful body spray. Good; she wore no perfume herself. She liked that he left his curly hair wet.

The café was nearby. Tom asked Emily about her show, which was winding down, and she showed him the signature move she came up with that garnered her some praise in _The Village Voice, _right there on the sidewalk, not caring when her skirt rode up at one point.

"Got any you're working on now?" he asked, trying to be nonchalant, though she knew he appreciated the view.

"Sure. It's one I planned on using if I ever choreographed a ballet like _The Firebird._" It was a wild, pagan-like dance, arms flailing like a primitive, frenzied version of the Watusi, as if showing the ancient, more athletic roots of 1960's pop dancing, coupled with a daunting leap. He applauded as she came to earth. They were now at the café, and Tom gave her a searching look. 

"Rachel told you about this place, didn't she? I thought this was where we were going."

It was her turn to look nonchalant.

"Maybe."

Tom chuckled, and placed his hand on the small of her back again, but this time she leaned into him slightly. Somehow, Emily knew he wouldn't mind.

He said he hadn't eaten anything decent since Thursday. Rachel's prediction was right: he ordered The Full English: bacon, eggs,and fried cherry tomatoes with toast. He took his coffee black, just like her. She reached over and tasted a tomato, closing her eyes in ecstasy: it had, decadently, been cooked in the bacon grease.

"Mmmmm," was her only comment. She looked down at her now sad-looking cheese omelet, garnished with plain, sliced tomatoes, and called over the young waiter to see if he could bring her a few of the cherry tomatoes as a side. He looked dubious, but would check.

Emily asked him more about his show, then clapped when a small plate of the fried tomatoes arrived. She shoveled a few onto Tom's plate, and they toasted each other with mouthfuls.

"Like them?" Tom asked, chucking. All she could do was nod with her mouth full.

"Damned straight" she exclaimed eventually, listening as he told her they were still working on the funding, but could he ask her a question? Sure.

"That ballet move you showed me. I'd love to have the character Sally do that- she's supposed to represent an ancient Greek water nymph. And I had this idea for a poster—" He drew a primitive sketch on a napkin—A pool, with a fountain at the center, and a mountain in the background. In the foreground he drew a stick figure, dancing. "It would look great on the poster, a silhouette of Sally dancing that move. What do you say?"

She sat up, surprised.

"Are you asking me for just one move?" Her heart leaped when Tom shook his head.

"I'd like you to choreograph the whole thing, pending producer and director approval."

It was a risk. She'd have to talk it over with her agent, at least. Tom was fine with that.

She really, really, was starting to like him. He was knowledgeable, good-looking, decent, and seemed to like her. The prospects of working with him and Rachel professionally _and _with Tom romantically were daunting, but also exciting. For a fleeting moment, she saw herself as part of a legend, too. If this musical was as good as what she had heard already, the three of them could become a powerful artistic force.

But, the problem of the producers brought her down to reality. They wouldn't go for any of them being romantically involved. Assuming they _were_ involved, romantically, that is. She jumped in, closing her eyes while asking:

"Would that mean we couldn't go out on any more dates?" He didn't answer. She slowly opened her eyes, to find Tom, amused, gazing at her.

"Do you want to go out again?" he asked, oh Lord, eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, I would." She popped a tomato in her mouth and grinned. "How about you?"

"I'd like that. I'd like that a lot," Tom said, softly.

She smiled.

"But let's keep it low until everything is set up, okay? I can wait."

"Deal."

He looked happy. About the deal, or the dates? Both?

"Well, I can wait, but only after this first." She leaned over the table and kissed him, firmly, assertively, and he responded in kind. They both tasted of tomatoes and coffee. It would become their anniversary breakfast treat.

Rachel, of course wanted to know everything**. **Emily was happy to see her cool with the idea, especially the idea of working together. She also reassured Emily about the romance. "I'm fine with it, really," she said, "But the producers have to be cool with it too."

"I know," Emily said, "That's why we aren't going to pursue it openly until everything is in motion and working."

"Well you have one advantage," Rachel said, grinning, "We're all nobodies, so you won't be followed around." She went on to say that she would approach the producers about having her audition. "I won't be lying when I say we're friends." A wink.

Emily perked up—she hadn't really thought of it that way, and was grateful to Rachel for acting on her behalf.

And so it began. Emily, Rachel and Tom got funding and permission to put the musical on, a director was hired, and Emily started working with the dancers.

She and Tom began having surreptitious dates. A month into it, Rachel walked in on them making love at the apartment when she came home unexpectedly. They were both naked on the couch, looking guilty and apprehensive. It was their first time together too, pleasantly drunk on wine. Rachel just laughed and went to her room. Inside, however, she curled in a ball, prayed for Finn's safety, and wished she were sleeping with him. But she had work to do first. Then she also prayed for Emily and Tom. They were so damned cute together.

Once the show was up and running, Emily and Tom outed themselves and were shocked—almost disappointed—to find that nobody gave a damn. She moved in right after. Again, they were shocked. They hadn't counted on the easy way they worked together to bleed into their living arrangements, too. There were moments, of course; Emily howled with laughter one night seeing Tom and Rachel bicker. That tempered their disagreements somewhat and actually made things work smoother.

Then something wonderful happened. A Brooklyn underground theater paper took an interest in their play, and a reporter revealed how the three of them lived together and detailed the romantic entanglements. At first they thought the article was a disaster, but the producers simply laughed.

"Kids," Billie said, waving her hands unconcernedly, "This is the best thing to happen to us since we took you on. You'll see."

Billie, of course, was right. The reporter described their apartment as a hub of theatrical creativity, dubbing it "Tin Pan Alley II." Other music papers, even _The Village Voice_, picked up on that name, and soon they were giving interviews, and the show's popularity off-Broadway soared.

Emily, Rachel, and Tom were on the cusp of a dream very few had ever experienced. All three understood it, and wanted it, enough to live harmoniously. All three loved each other enough to wish the best for all. Tom and Emily went out of their way to comfort Rachel when she was lonely, and backed her plan to find Finn come hell or high water once the Tonys were over, win or lose.

Emily stood with Rachel, arm around her shoulder, looking at Finn and Tom working. She felt elation that Rachel looked and sounded so blissfully happy.

"I'm so happy for you," she told Rachel. Rachel beamed.

_Mount Olympus Blues_, she then realized, had only been the beginning. There had been a missing member all this time. Now that he was here, it was going to be amazing. She could feel it in her bones.


	20. Chapter 20

Rachel was the first to awaken, long before dawn the next day. She didn't really have to be up, and it was dark, so she settled in against Finn, and wondered how she ever made through the last seven years ("The Finnless Years", she would call them in her autobiography) without him. True, she had Tom for a portion of them, and did have an amazing start to her career, culminating with a Tony, but she hadn't been truly happy, until now. She wondered how much longer she could have gone without him. The answer, which she knew, deep inside of her, sent a chill to her soul. So Rachel Berry snuggled closer to her Finn, so close that, like the fabled stonework of the Incas, not even a knife could find a gap between them. The chill dissipated, and she fell back asleep.

He wasn't next to her when she awoke the second time, but the delicious smell of coffee and breakfast made it easier to bear. Emily was coming out of the bathroom, and both of them burst into giggling about how this was becoming a routine, but Emily pointed out that Tom was still asleep.

"Time to see how your man cooks," Emily joked.

"You're in for a treat," Rachel replied.

"They aren't vegan," Finn said, without turning around, as he carefully watched some pancakes. On the counter were bowls of cut up peaches, strawberries, and blueberries.

"Oh God," Emily said, sipping coffee, then picking out a piece of peach.

"They smell wonderful" Rachel said, grabbing a bowl and coffee, "Vegan or not."

Tom eventually wandered in, rubbing his eyes, and waited while Finn handed out more pancakes, then made more coffee.

"I don't trust myself making coffee anymore, now that we have an actual Jeeves here," he said, laughing.

When everyone was sitting and eating, they talked about their day. Rachel and Emily were heading over for a light rehearsal at one, and Tom was going to handle some small requests for music changes from Eric, the director, to better accommodate the voice of a temporary replacement for one of the actors who had an emergency appendectomy.

"What about you, Finn? What's on your agenda?" Tom asked.

"Well, I'm heading over to Queens College, and an interview with their Veterans Coordinator. Then I'm picking up tickets to a show for me and Rachel tonight."

Rachel looked up.

"What show?" She looked delighted.

"That's a secret. And so is our dinner date beforehand."

Tom and Emily ooohed and ahhed. Rachel told them to shut it, laughing.

"There's a note for you on the refrigerator, with further instructions."

And with that, Finn swallowed the rest of his coffee and got up to shower and get ready to go.

"I'll leave KP to you guys," he said with a wink.

When he was gone, Tom got up to do the dishes, but Emily stayed at the table and watched Rachel read the note.

"What does it say?" she asked, her impatience showing.

Rachel looked puzzled.

"It just says 'Wear the blue dress you wore to the party in Lima. I really liked that one.'"

"Does it have any special significance?" Emily asked, knowing how the two of them loved symbols.

"No," Rachel replied, "But it's very nice. So we must be going someplace nice." She smiled. "We both kind of looked at this past week or so as a kind of honeymoon before getting back into the world again. I think he wants to go somewhere nice before I have to perform again. I saw him talking with Kurt, so I guess this is what they had planned. Dinner and a show!"

"How New York," Emily said, dreamily. "Honey, can we do that soon?"

"Yes, dear," Tom replied, catching the piece of peach Emily threw at him in his mouth.

**XXXxxxxxxx**

"You look gorgeous, Rachel," Emily told her. Rachel smiled. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and the blue dress fit her perfectly, ending a few inches above the knee. She wore a white shawl and went out to meet Finn, who wore his black suit with a white short and tie.

"Whoah," he said, in his best Keanu Reeves expression.

A cab was waiting outside. Finn helped her in, and handed the driver a note with the destination. Rachel cuddled close.

"I was going to try and whine the destination out of you," she told Finn, giggling, "Or bribe you with cab sex."

Finn folded his arms resolutely.

"As if that would work," he sniffed.

She sat close to him resting her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes happily. Let him have his surprise. He rolled down the window and they inhaled the New Yorkness of the moment together.

"Are you okay with the big city, Finn?" she asked.

"I have you. And we are where we always planned to be together, baby. I'm so more than okay."

"Good." She was silent the rest of the trip. At that moment she wouldn't have cared if they were just going to a diner. Rachel Berry was at peace. Real peace.

The diner turned out to be Sardi's (which she secretly hoped was the destination). There were a few papparazi and fans milling about, hoping to catch sight of a celebrity. As they got out of the cab, Finn was gratified to hear a few exclaim "It's Rachel Berry!", but was startled when one person yelled "It's Rachel Berry and that guy!" He just smiled as Rachel signed some autographs, and heard her introduce him to one young woman as the love of her life, and the woman almost fainted. Cameras flashed.

And then they were inside.

The hostess looked at her card and said, "We can get you a much better table." Rachel looked puzzled, but Finn just said,"No, we want that particular one."

And she knew. It was their table. And her heart nearly burst. Finn just grinned as they were seated, and for a moment they were their high school selves again, only this time they had already reunited.

"Thank you, Finn," Rachel said, "This is perfect." Then her eyes grew wide. "Oh my god! That's Matthew Broderick and Sara Jessica Parker! " Even

more panic. "They're coming over!"

Finn stood, and shook Broderick's hand as his wife congratulated Rachel on her award.

"I'm Finn Hudson," he said.

"Yes, I know," Broderick said. "I'm proud to meet a Silver Star winner."

"Thank you, sir." Finn replied, "I'm really proud to meet Ferris Buehler." Broderick laughed heartily. He then turned and told Rachel that he and Sarah had seen her play and were blown away, as his wife congratulated Finn, and they left for their table.

Rachel was adorable, he thought. She had the same starry eyed expression she wore after meeting Patti Lupone. She still didn't see herself in their league yet. But he did.

Soon after that, a man came up to their table and introduced himself as Max Klimavicius, the proprietor.

"We are honored to have you here, Ms Berry, and Mr Hudson! I hope you enjoy your dinner—Hans will be here soon to take your order, but I was wondering if I might bother you for one moment."

"It's no bother, Mr. Klimavicius," Rachel said, smiling shyly. "What can we do for you?"

"Well, I was wondering if I might get a picture from you. I will need to send it to Richard Baratz, our caricature artist. After your memorable awards speech, I think we need to have your caricature on the wall."

Rachel was suddenly speechless. She shot a glare at Finn, who feigned innocence. Suddenly, she spoke, a sly look on her face, and rummaged for her phone.

"How about this?" she asked the proprietor. It was the picture of her and Finn from the Chinese restaurant in Jackson Hole. Finn was about to protest when she held up her hand.

"Mr. Klimavicius," she said firmly, "I would not be where I am today if not for Mr. Hudson. And he is a Silver Star winner for valor, so I think it would be wonderfully appropriate to honor veterans as well as celebrities, don't you?"

Klimavicius smiled warmly.

"It would be our honor, Mr Hudson, Ms. Berry. Besides," he grinned, "It is a wonderful picture." He gave Rachel the email address, and said he'd let them see the caricature when it was ready, and they would arrange a ceremony to mount it on the wall.

When he left, and after she sent the picture, Rachel looked at Finn, tears in her eyes.

"You are my hero," she said. "People need to know that. Especially you." She came around the table, sat in his lap, and kissed the breath out of him. People clapped.

**XXXxxxxxx **

The show was an off-Broadway production of _Cabaret._ Rachel gave Finn a strange look. Why would he bring her to Jesse's play? She fleetingly wondered if it was to gloat, to use her to rub Jesse's comparative lack of success in his face. She quickly dismissed that. Finn didn't like Jesse, but he wasn't cruel.

As if reading her mind, Finn said, "You said you hadn't seen his play. You also seem to have forgiven him for what he did to you. I haven't yet, but he is somebody we knew from the beginning of us, trying to make it. That makes him sort of special, doesn't it? "

Rachel squeezed his arm. She suddenly felt the Finnless years, and how they must have changed him, because this Finn was different, wonderfully different. Once she thought she knew everything about him. Now she realized it would take a lifetime to do that. The fun had, truly, only just started.

"Yes, I guess it does." She kissed him on the sidewalk outside the little theatre, right before a couple of people going in noticed her. Finn remembered when nobody, not even him, knew who Rachel Berry was. Watching her graciously signing autographs hit home just how far she had come. She looked happy. He couldn't care less if nobody ever knew his name, as long as his Rachel was happy. They went inside.

Their seats were in the front row, and even though not many people were in this small theater, Finn noticed whisperings as they walked down the aisle. Rachel did too, and squeezed his arm, smiling from ear-to-ear. They sat next to an older couple, who asked Rachel for an autograph. The woman asked if they were here to see anybody in particular.

"Jesse St James," Rachel said, smiling, "We knew him in high school."

"How nice you came to see an old friend," the woman said, looking for his name. He was playing Max, the owner of the Kit Kat Club, a non-singing, cameo role.

The performance was not as bad as they had been led to believe. In fact, at intermission, Rachel mentioned how some critics had almost savaged it out of existence, but one influential critic said there was more to it than immediately met the eye, and was worth repeat viewings, which literally gave the play the chance to totter on. Both of them agreed that Jesse did what he could with Max, but the star was Pat Quinn, the actress playing Sally Bowles. Finn excused himself to the bathroom while Rachel signed even more autographs, then asked an usher if it would be possible to go backstage after the play. When he realized who Finn was with, the usher came back with an enthusiastic yes.

The cast gave its bows at the end, and Jesse, looking down as Finn and Rachel enthusiastically clapped, gave them a momentary, oddly embarrassed look, but switched immediately to his patented mysterious smile.

Backstage, the cast was delirious to see Rachel, but she begged them to wait until she and Finn spoke to Jesse, "an old acquaintance", alone. Pat said Jesse could use her dressing room, since he didn't get one, for which he thanked her gratefully. Inside, Rachel gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He stood, looking at them with that almost amused look of his.

"Thanks for coming."

"You did great, Jesse," Rachel said, beaming.

He smiled, a little more genuinely then, and even laughed.

"Yeah, I really made that part actually noticeable, didn't I?"

She touched his arm, joking, "That's the best 'proprietary look' the character has ever delivered." They all laughed at that, and Finn realized, for the first time, he was seeing Jesse with his guard down. Far from the arrogant, flamboyant ass he remembered, Jesse was actually warm and self-deprecating.

Then Jesse hugged Rachel tightly, saying, "I'm so proud of you and what you've accomplished. I've seen your show, and it was wonderful. You deserve it all."

"Thank you," Rachel said, moved, because she had always admired his talent, and, to be honest, felt sad for him right now, because she knew he should have had the leading male role. But she understood the vagaries of the business.

"Listen, Rachel," said Finn, "Could I speak with Jesse for a few minutes? I think I saw the whole cast trying to peek through the keyhole at you."

Rachel smiled, saying, " Of course! Jesse, it was wonderful seeing your show. Good luck!"

"Bye Rachel," Jesse said, as she excused herself. The two men could hear her talking to the cast immediately outside.

"I heard you won the Silver Star," Jesse said first, and shook Finn's hand. Finn nodded, but beckoned Jesse to sit down, while he took a seat on a nearby stool.

"I hated you for a long time." Jesse didn't react, but sat impassively.

"I hated you because of how you betrayed her so brutally. I still haven't forgiven you for that, though she did, long ago. She's better than me in that regard." At this, Jesse just nodded.

"But I also know what you did for her that day at Nationals."

Jesse's guard came down abruptly.

"Does Rachel know this?"

"No. My stepbrother found out. Someone he knew overheard you talking to Carmen."

"Oh. Okay. Good. " He looked relieved.

Finn cleared his throat.

"I also hated you because you loved her. Maybe you still do."

Jesse smiled, shaking his head.

"There's something about that woman," he said, letting out a long sigh, "but we both know who she truly loves, and it ain't me."

Finn nodded, then said, "I just wanted you to know that I don't hate you anymore."

Jesse looked surprised.

"Why not?"

"Because you loved her enough to put a word in for her without any possible benefit to you. For that I'm grateful."

"I may love her, but I do know talent when I see it," Jesses quipped, and the two men laughed.

Finn then said what he really wanted to say.

"Listen, Jesse. Tom Foley is working with me on another musical, just starting, in fact. And, when the time is right, I'd like you to audition for the male lead."

Finn could see Jesse's guard go back up. Understandable, he thought. Invite your former romantic rival to audition, then watch with glee as you ream him a new one before telling him to get lost.

"I won't be at the audition. It might throw you off." He winked. Jesse laughed. They shook hands.

"Thanks, Finn. I appreciate this. And I'm glad you don't hate me. After all, you won her heart, forever. That's your karma. I have to live with it. That's my karma."

"She cares for you," Finn told him, "And respects your talent. So do I. Don't fuck it up."

Jesse looked grateful.

"I won't," he said softly, "I promise."

Outside, Rachel was having an animated conversation with the cast, telling them stories of memorable nights with her show. Finn noticed that Jesse had moved next to Pat, and that she slipped her hand into his. Jesse looked over at him, and Finn shot a discrete thumbs-up his way. There was a brief, honest look of happiness, then the inscrutable Jesse St James mask was back on.

"Thank you for tonight," Rachel told him in the cab, sleepily cuddling close. "Did I ever tell you how much I love your ass?"

"No. Tell me."


	21. Chapter 21

The squad of soldiers sprawled, exhausted, by the side of the mountain trail. They had started humping before dawn, down in the foothills, each with seventy-plus pounds of gear. Now it was early afternoon, well up the trail, in cool, fragrant pine woods.

Finn sat with a pair of field glasses he had liberated three years ago from a quartermaster sergeant who had been caught selling gear on the black market. He carried them everywhere. For bird watching. He was scanning the cluster of low, dusty hills from where they had started. It would be warm down there now, ripe for thermals and eagles catching rides on them.

Sure enough, he spotted the familiar wing silhouette of an eagle, far below. It wasn't close enough to identify yet, but the upper surfaces of its wings and body were an earthen brown. It soared in a lazy, upward spiraling helix, and, as it eventually passed the soldiers, the eagle barely gave them a glance. Its underside was white, with delicate, black, dotted lines along the wings.

"Hey Sarge," Finn called out, "We've got an eagle. Don't recognize it, though. "

Sergeant Joe Benson had his own pair of field glasses.

"It's a Short-toed Eagle, Huddy," he remarked. "Not native. A migrant in these parts."

Finn nodded. The two of them enjoyed identifying birds. When they could. He watched until the bird was out of sight, then rested, his back against a boulder. They were waiting for orders now; who knew when they'd actually move further up the trail.

Benson stretched out next to Finn.

"Wake me when the lieutenant finally shows up," he told Finn and closed his eyes.

Finn was a about to close his eyes too, when he heard a noise further up the trail. They had sentries posted, so he wasn't worried. He shook Benson.

Three men came swiftly down the trail, Indian-file. They seemed oddly out of place. They were dressed in bulky black or khaki sweaters, lightweight olive combat trousers, with huge bulging pockets, and what appeared to be commercially-obtained mountain hiking boots. Their belts had fully-stuffed NATO camouflage ammo pouches, and each man bore a huge camouflaged backpack with what looked like possibly one-hundred pounds of gear. All three wore _pakuls _instead of helmets, and their lower faces were hidden by black-and-white checkered _shemaghs,_ Afghan scarves. It made them look sinister, like Old West bank robbers. Slung in front of each man was a nasty-looking camouflaged C8 carbine.

They passed the Americans alongside the trail without speaking, giving only a curt nod as they went by. Benson gave them a respectful nod in return.

"Jesus, Sarge," a soldier named Hamm piped up, "Who the hell were those scary-looking fuckers?"

"Brit Special Forces," Benson replied, "SAS."

"What's with the outlaw scarves?" Finn asked.

"They never allow their faces to be photographed, and probably didn't want to run the risk of us having an embedded reporter or photographer along."

Finn felt uneasy.

"Why are they here? Kinda gives me the creeps."

Benson didn't answer.

**XXXxxxxx**

He was in a fog, flailing. Scared. Scared stiff. He couldn't breathe, feeling as if he was in a vise, seeing random, flickering images before his eyes. A moan came out of his mouth. Lips, _her_ lips, he'd know them anywhere, were on his eyes, and he could breathe again. A hand, soft, _her_ hand, he'd know it anywhere too, gently probed between his legs, and he fell back under the fog, only to scream because he couldn't see her, yet felt a wave of pleasure wrack his body at the moment he felt he was going to die alone.

"Finn." A voice, oh Lord, _her _voice. His heart was slowing down now, his throat feeling drier than a mummy's tongue. He blinked. Everything was blurry.

"Oh Finn, baby, please wake up." Squinting, Finn could see Rachel's worried face. The night lamp was on. He coughed, tried licking his lips. A glass of water magically appeared before him, and he slurped some down.

"Hi baby," he croaked, with a weak smile, "I'm sorry…"

Her hand stroked his forehead, and then he started to chuckle. Their bedroom door was slightly open, and Tom and Emily's worried faces were stacked in the opening, one exactly above the other, like in some cartoon.

"Don't be sorry," Rachel murmured, "But you kinda screamed and woke everybody up right when I was…" She winked at him, and he laughed.

"Well, guys," he said, looking at Tom and Emily, "I guess now you know all our kinky secrets."

His friends laughed nervously.

"Do you need anything?" Emily asked, still worried.

"It's okay. I think he'll be fine, now thanks." Rachel said, and Emily's face disappeared along with Tom's.

She gazed at him.

"How did I do, baby?"

"Perfectly, Rachel," Finn said, "But I was hoping to spare you this. Hopefully it won't happen often. "

She gently cleaned him up, saying, "I would do anything for you."

"I'm a lucky man. Thank you." He kissed her.

He was very sleepy now, and she took him in her arms.

"I love you, Finn," she whispered. When he was asleep, she reached over to her phone and texted Jane:

**_*Thank you for showing me how to take care of him_.* **

Rachel was already asleep when her phone received a reply:

_***I knew you could do it. BTW—driving up to Wood Buffalo NP now. Wish us luck**_.*


	22. Chapter 22

Tom and Emily found Finn and Rachel sitting together in the kitchen having coffee. It was way too early for any of them. Finn looked haggard; Rachel, worried.

"I'm sorry, guys," Finn said. "Nights this bad are very, very, rare now. To be honest, I was hoping they had gone altogether."

"It's okay, Finn," Tom said, gently. He walked to the coffee maker, but before pouring asked, "You _were_ able to make coffee this morning, right?"

It was the perfect thing to say. Finn just shook his head, rolled his eyes, and life appeared in his face. His laughter brought a smile to Rachel's face, and soon all of them were sitting around, talking easily. But it reminded Finn that he wasn't the only one in the process of integration; Rachel and his friends were too, integrating him into their lives. And they were at a distinct disadvantage, because they had no idea what he had been through, or how he felt. So he decided to tell them, in the best way he knew how.

"Guys, take your coffee and meet me in the living room. I have something to say." Finn smiled and squeezed Rachel's hand reassuringly. She responded with that look of love and trust he had come to adore. He then disappeared into their bedroom, and emerged with a guitar. Rachel, Tom and Emily sat on the couch, expectant. He sat opposite them, cross-legged on the floor, on the other side of the coffee table.

"Last night makes me realize that you guys have signed on for some things that you may not have expected. As you may have guessed, I haven't been able to leave everything about Afghanistan behind, or at least process it so it doesn't spook the natives." He smiled quickly, hoping they'd take his joke the right way. They did.

"We used to call going home going back to The World, because that was where everything was supposed to make sense. But a lot of it doesn't, especially when you first get back, after being immersed in the kind of savagery there is over there, because, over there you have to adapt to that very quickly and completely, or go mad. What becomes normal for you is nothing but madness and nightmares to your loved ones. The feeling that really eats at you is the desire to be normal again, to enjoy the simple things, and the fear that you may never be able to do that." The others didn't speak, but he saw tears in Rachel's and Emily's eyes. He smiled.

"I'm trying, and I think I've succeeded for the most part. I hope you can give me a little more time, but until then, here's a song Red taught me in Sheridan, by a great songwriter and guitarist named Richard Thompson. It describes how I felt, and where I want to get better than anything I've ever heard. "

He began to pick out a soft, slow, delicate melody, and started to sing in his low, warm voice:

_**Oh she danced in the street with the guns all around her  
All torn like a rag doll, barefoot in the rain  
And she sang like a child, toora-day toora-daddy  
Oh how will I ever be simple again**_

_**She sat by the banks of the dirty grey river  
And tried for a fish with a worm on a pin  
There was nothing but fever and ghosts in the water  
Oh how will I ever be simple again**_

_**War was my love and my friend and companion  
And what did I care for the pretty and plain  
But her smile was so clear and my heart was so troubled  
Oh how will I ever be simple again**_

_**In her poor burned-out house I sat at her table  
The smell of her hair was like cornfields in May  
And I wanted to weep and my eyes ached from trying  
Oh how will I ever be simple again**_

_**So graceful she moved through the dust and the ruin  
And happy she was in her dances and games  
Oh teach me to see with your innocent eyes, love  
Oh how will I ever be simple again  
Oh how will I ever be simple again  
**_

He had trouble singing the last couple of lines, but by that time Rachel, Tom and Emily had come over , to huddle next to him, keeping him company, no matter what.

**XXXXxxxx**

She was standing on stage in a tight, short, black dress, convincing hundreds of people that her character had just destroyed her lover's life in order to keep him. The stage lights highlighted her face, those eyes, burning with the desperate fever of unrequited love, but also with triumph, knowing that she carried their son, the merging of their flesh, the bond that would chain her appalled lover to her forever. Her powerful voice compelled the audience to witness the personal destruction of an innocent man, brutally overpowering the desperate, human urge to turn away.

It was an exceptionally unnerving performance in an equally extraordinary musical. One critic wrote:

_**Tom Foley's often gorgeously melodic score lulls one into complacency, compounding the horror of being dragged into hell, unable to even scream, by Rachel Berry's obsessed, narcissistic Sally Jones. **_

He sat, where he dreamed he would, in the very front row. Her talent washed over him, picked him up like an irresistible wave, and carried him away. He surrendered to the power of her art, because she dedicated it, all of it, to him, and like she said, all he ever wanted was for her to be able to do what she loved, what she was born to do. Seeing her wring every ounce of feeling from an audience told him that it was all worth it, all seven years. Seeing her beaming down at him as she took her bows, Finn Hudson felt the Universe give in.

He didn't hear the audience screaming around him. He didn't see the other cast members. All he saw was her, and all she saw was him; one final, glorious integration of souls.

And he knew that he was finally home, in The World.

_**FIN**_

**A/N: Many thanks to those readers who hung in and enjoyed the story. It was a pleasure and an honor. **

**Lyrics are from "How Will I Ever Be Simple Again", by Richard Thompson**


End file.
